


Unfinished Business

by lisakodysam



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Dark, Drama, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisakodysam/pseuds/lisakodysam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU version of what happens when Nathaniel and Anders are reunited in the deep roads of Kirkwall after 6 years apart. Nathaniel is not at all pleased to see the man he'd presumed was dead, and immediately takes Anders into custody for deserting the Grey Wardens, but is there another, deeper reason for his anger?  And what will Nathaniel make of the changes he sees in his old friend and one-time lover?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Reunion In The Deeps

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank-you to Nithu for beta-reading this story for me, and for her advice, support, and friendship. :-)
> 
> There will be slash and dark content a little later on in this story.
> 
> I apologise if any of the formatting is off; I'm a newbie to the site, and to HTML, and ask that you bear with me until I get my head around everything :-) Thank you!

Nathaniel Howe was surrounded. Clambering up a rocky ledge to gain a better vantage, he began to pick off the darkspawn with his bow, occasionally planting a boot in the face of any that scrambled up the rock after him.  
Although he was by now a veteran of fighting these creatures, he could not ignore the fact he was vastly outnumbered, was rapidly running out of arrows, and soon would have rely on his daggers and his wits alone.

Deciding to save his arrows for any particularly troublesome darkspawn, he unsheathed his daggers and began slashing wildly at any that ventured too close.

He felt himself break into a sweat as the darkspawn closed in on him, and a wave of nausea washed over him as their proximity pulled at his blood, and their stench filled his nostrils.

“I won’t let you bastards take me,” he vowed to himself, and reached into his pack for one of the incendiary flasks he’d made earlier, having to vigorously defend himself with his feet as he did so.

Hearing a familiar whistling sound, he threw himself to the ground in the nick of time as an arrow glanced off the rock barely inches above him.

“Damn!” Nathaniel sensed the arrival of more darkspawn into the chamber. Hurriedly, he prepared his flask and lobbed it over the rocky ledge, which was now his only barrier between him and the darkspawn; the flask smashed on the ground below and he heard anguished shrieks as several of them went up in flames.

As he began to prepare another flask, he felt a stronger pull at his blood as he sensed the presence of an Emissary nearby. He immediately abandoned his plans to use the flask, as by now more darkspawn were climbing up the ledge after him. He got onto all fours and crawled forward, ready to meet them with his blade, then noticed an orange glow illuminate the cave walls; in a second it grew more intense and he felt the temperature in the cavern rise.

Without warning, he was thrown onto his face as the emissary’s fireball destroyed most of the ledge, and, through his blurred vision, he saw several darkspawn lying on the ground, injured by one of their own; some of them, however, were unscathed and quickly descended upon him.

“No…” he gasped, reaching for his daggers as they drew nearer.

He heard another whistling sound - although this time there was a harsh, clunky quality to it - and in an instant, the Emissary winked out of existence in his mind.

“That was a beauty of a shot, Bianca!” he heard a voice call out in the darkness.

Feeling sudden hope as his darkspawn pursuers broke off and ran away from him, he crawled forward on his elbows and squinted. He could just make out three men entering the cavern: a dwarf, an elf and a human, who was obviously a mage.

He then felt another tug at his blood. At first he had trouble distinguishing it from the way the darkspawn called to his body, but as he concentrated, there could be no doubt about it: a fellow Warden was nearby. Although he was immensely relieved that one of his party might be alive, having believed them all to be dead, he was confounded as to how they’d survived, and how they’d made their way to this part of the chamber without him sensing them before.

Wearily, he dragged himself to his feet and took up his bow, determined to aid his mysterious, and very timely, rescuers. He winced and gritted his teeth as he clutched at his ribs; he’d probably broken one or some of them in the blast. As he nocked an arrow and took aim, he felt a warm, benevolent energy settle over him, as though he was being held and caressed by invisible arms, and immediately he felt the pain in his ribs subside.

Obviously, someone had healed him, but whom? The human mage was too busy hurling giant boulders through the air to stop and cast a healing spell. Was there another mage nearby, then?

Nathaniel quickly pushed this thought out of his mind and used the last of his remaining arrows to drop as many darkspawn as he could.

Finally, the darkspawn in the cavern were defeated, and Nathaniel clambered down the rock face to meet his rescuers. As the three of them walked towards him, Nathaniel felt he’d met one of them before, or at least seen his likeness.

“Nathaniel Howe?” the familiar-looking mage asked him.

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes at the tall, dark-haired man, whose eyes glinted like emeralds in the dim light, suddenly realising who he was.

“You’re the Champion of Kirkwall, aren’t you?” he asked, and the man nodded.

“Hawke,” he said in introduction and gestured to his companions. “This is Varric, and Fenris.”

Nathaniel bowed deeply to the men in gratitude, and then straightened up, noticing Hawke looking toward the entrance of the cave.

“Your sister Delilah sent us down here after you; she told us you’d followed our expedition’s route. Why?” Hawke asked him.

“Because your group ventured deeper than any of us thought possible; the First Warden himself ordered this investigation,” Nathaniel answered, and paused as he felt that same tug at his blood, telling him that a Warden was very close by.

“Forgive me, Messere Hawke, but I sense the presence of one of my companions nearby; I must check on them,” Nathaniel said as he walked away from the group, feeling the pull on his blood grow stronger as he neared the cavern entrance.

“You’re sensing a Warden?” Hawke asked; Nathaniel turned and nodded. “That’s just Anders…ANDERS!” he shouted. “Stop skulking in the shadows and come out!”

“Anders…?” Nathaniel whispered to himself, stopping dead. _It can’t be. It can’t possibly be him…_

Out of the gloom stepped a tall, hunched figure, and, as he emerged into the glow of his companion’s torches, Nathaniel held his breath, feeling a thrill of cold fury pulse through him.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Anders said quietly, looking at the ground as he spoke. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Nathaniel, his fisted hands clamped tightly to his sides, slowly walked over to Anders and stopped in front of him, his eyes as pale and cold as ice as he stared down his former friend.

“Nate, I…”

“Hey! That’s not nice!” Varric exclaimed as Nathaniel floored Anders with a brutal right-hook.

Hawke touched Varric’s arm to stop him from intervening. “We don’t want to get involved in Grey Warden affairs,” he muttered. “We have enough to contend with as it is.”

Varric grunted and reluctantly stepped back.

“Nate…!” Anders cried, scooting backwards with one of his hands held up; he’d seen Nathaniel angry before and did NOT want to be on the receiving end this time.

“Where the bloody hell have you been for the last six years?” Nathaniel rasped, his wrath barely concealed by his deceptively steady voice.

“Nate, it’s complicated,” Anders began.

“At least have the dignity to stand when you address me!” Nathaniel barked at him, and Anders quickly scrambled to his feet, taking a few steps away, but Nathaniel stepped closer, eventually backing him against a wall.

“Do you have any idea of the time and effort we put into searching for you?” he seethed in almost a whisper. “Do you have any idea of how worried we were about you? We scoured Ferelden for months for you, and then, finally, we assumed you were dead. We held a memorial service for you at the Keep, Anders! We grieved for you!”

“I-I’m sorry, Nate; I didn’t realise…”

“Didn’t realise?” Nathaniel replied, his tone becoming harsher. “Didn’t realise what? That some of us at the Keep actually considered you a friend? Well, we did – and it would have been nice for you to reciprocate a little of that friendship by letting us know where the fuck you were!”

“I wanted to!” Anders shouted back at him. “Nate, I wanted to more than anything, you have to believe me! I just couldn’t…I had to get away…”

Nathaniel covered his face with his hands and turned away. “The Grey Warden Order is not the Circle Tower, Anders - it’s not something you can just run away from! You have a sworn duty…”

“I also have a duty to protect my friends!” Anders protested. “That’s what I was trying to do!”

Nathaniel wheeled around to face him, his expression hard. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” he hissed, removing some rope from his back pack. “When I’m finished here, you’re coming back to Ferelden with me.”

“No! I’m not going back!” Anders cried, his words quickly silenced as Nathaniel grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, squashing Anders’ face against the wall as he bound his hands.

“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” he whispered harshly into Anders’ ear. “You’re a deserter and will face justice.”

Anders suddenly broke out into mirthless laughter at Nathaniel’s words.

“I can assure you this is not a laughing matter,” Nathaniel said angrily.

“Oh, and I can assure you I don’t find it in the least bit funny,” Anders retorted. “It’s just what you said about justice. That’s what caused this whole thing in the first place.”

“If you’re not going to talk sense, then don’t talk at all,” Nathaniel said as he shoved Anders forward towards Hawke’s group. “Forgive me, Messere Hawke, but your group will be one short as of now.”

“Look,” said Hawke, “I can see the two of you have some issues to deal with, but Anders has been with us for a while, now, and I don’t think we can do without him.”

“Speak for yourself,” Fenris muttered.

“Anders must receive the proper punishment,” Nathaniel told Hawke. “I do not wish to make an enemy of you, messere, but he is no longer your charge.”

Hawke flashed his most charming smile. “Of course, I do not wish for that, either,” he said. “Does the Warden-Commander travel with you? Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

“I am the Warden-Commander,” Nathaniel stated.

“What? What do you mean?” Anders spluttered. “What happened to Aedan?”

“Aedan’s dead,” Nathaniel said bluntly.

“B-but…he can’t be!” Anders stammered.

“Oh, so now you think of him – after six years?” Nathaniel asked with biting rancour. “He’s dead all right – I saw it with my own eyes; an ogre practically broke him in half, but of course we didn’t have a healer on hand at the time, did we?”

Anders stared at him with his mouth open.

Nathaniel sighed, immediately feeling guilty at what he’d just said – it wasn’t Anders’ fault at all, but that hadn’t stopped Nathaniel from blaming him at the time, and he was still too angry for the moment to back down.

“I’m sorry,” Anders said sadly, hanging his head.

“Doesn’t look like this guy’s gonna bend,” Varric whispered to Hawke. “Maybe if we help him out down here, he’ll soften a bit. What do you say?”

Hawke glanced at Varric and nodded once. “Nathaniel,” he began, “or should I call you Commander?”

“Nathaniel will be fine,” he replied.

“Nathaniel,” Hawke repeated, “you obviously weren’t down here on your own. Are there any others with you?”

Nathaniel nodded slowly. “There were, but we were separated, and I’ve all but given up hope of finding them,” he said quietly. “I don’t sense any Wardens in the immediate vicinity – well, I didn’t, until Anders showed up.”

“We’d like to help you look for them,” Hawke offered.

“That is very gracious of you,” Nathaniel replied with a small bow, and walked over to the entrance to another chamber, pushing Anders along as he went. “We must go deeper into the tunnels to search for them. Stay alert for darkspawn,” he warned the others.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Anders complained. “How am I supposed to defend myself with my hands tied behind my back?”

“Run away,” Nathaniel spat as they entered the second chamber. “You’re good at that.”

 

As the five men ventured further and further into the thaig, and after engaging several small packs of darkspawn, Nathaniel, who could still not sense any Wardens besides Anders, began to lose hope of ever finding them. The last flicker of optimism within him was quickly extinguished as the group came across a pile of bodies, in front of which a severed head had been pushed onto the tip of a sword, and rested against the pile.

“Sick bastards!” Anders exclaimed as he vainly looked for survivors amongst the bodies; not an easy task, considering his hands were still bound.

Hawke approached Nathaniel, who stood away from the group, silently staring at the pile.

“Are these the Wardens you travelled with?” he asked.

Nathaniel nodded and continued to stare ahead.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said in commiseration.

“I am grateful to you and your friends for your aid,” Nathaniel said quietly, still not taking his eyes off the dead Wardens. “By my estimation, night has fallen by now; we should make camp and set off for the surface in the morning.”

“Are we safe here?” Hawke asked.

“The darkspawn are gone,” Nathaniel answered. “I can no longer sense them; if there are any more around, they will not have reached us by the time we depart.”

“Nathaniel, may I untie Anders’ hands?” Hawke asked with a glance over at Anders, who was watching them carefully from a distance.

“No; I don’t trust him not to run again,” Nathaniel replied.

“But you’re both Wardens,” Hawke argued reasonably. “Surely if he were to leave the area, you would sense it? Besides, one of the main reasons he accompanies us is for protection from the templars; I have no doubt they would apprehend him immediately if he didn’t travel with the Champion of Kirkwall,” Hawke said wryly.

Nathaniel remained silent for several moments as he considered Hawke’s words.

“All right,” he said at last. “But he’s still my prisoner.”

“Fair enough,” Hawke replied, still hopeful that he’d be able to persuade Nathaniel to release him. He beckoned Anders to join him; as he did so, his eyes never left Nathaniel once.

After burning the Warden corpses to prevent any darkspawn from further mutilating them, the five men split into three groups and made camp a distance away from the mass pyre. Hawke, Anders and Varric sat together and chatted quietly; Fenris and Nathaniel, however, each sat on their own away from the others.

“Your Commander’s a real hard ass, isn’t he?” Varric commented as Anders picked at his meal of dried meat and bread.

“No,” he replied quietly, looking over to where Nathaniel sat against a rock wall. “He’s a good man; he’s angry with me though, and has every right to be.”

“I remember you saying that you merged with Justice around six years ago,” Hawke recalled. “Is that the real reason you left the Wardens?”

“You didn’t fall for the story about the cat, then?” Anders asked miserably.

“Not for one second, Blondie,” Varric answered with a warm smile.

Anders stretched his legs out and leaned back on his hands. “I did something terrible,” he whispered. “Well, Justice did…oh, I don’t know…it was both of us. Not long after we’d merged, I was heading into Amaranthine for something, I forget what. On the way there, I came across a group of templars from the Circle Tower who had been hunting an apostate. Some of them remembered me, and decided to teach me a lesson for all the headaches I’d caused them in the past.”

“But surely they couldn’t capture you as an apostate,” Hawke opined, “as you were a Grey Warden?”

“That wasn’t their intention,” Anders explained. “Their intention was to beat the shit out of me.” He fell silent for several minutes; Hawke and Varric, who was fighting against the temptation to take out his story book, exchanged a glance.

“What happened then, Anders?” Hawke prompted.

Anders sighed wearily and drew his knees up to his chest. “I killed them,” he stated simply. “All six of them, in the blink of an eye.”

“How?” Hawke asked sceptically. “Six templars against a mage? Seems pretty one-sided, to me.”

“I don’t remember what happened,” Anders replied, “I just know that in a matter of seconds they were…they were…” He took a deep breath and sighed again. “We didn’t just kill them, we destroyed them; they were no longer recognisable as men.”

Varric let loose a long whistle.

“What did you do then?” Hawke asked him.

“I buried them…what was left of them,” Anders replied, “and then I ran. I ran and never looked back. I knew I couldn’t go back to the Vigil; I just didn’t know what Justice was capable of. What if someone there did something that displeased him, and the same thing happened again? No, I couldn’t put any of them at risk like that.”

“Perhaps you should explain that to Nathaniel,” Hawke suggested.

“I don’t think he’d understand,” Anders said with another glance over to where his Commander sat. “He was pretty pissed off that I’d merged with Justice in the first place; he called me foolish and irresponsible.”

“So the guy might say ‘I told you so’, that’s no biggie,” Varric interjected with a shrug. “If you make him understand, he may let you go; where’s the harm in trying?”

Anders shook his head. “No, there’s more to it than that…he has other reasons to be angry with me.”

“Well you obviously want to speak to him,” Hawke added. “You’ve hardly taken your eyes off him the whole time we’ve been talking.”

“Go on, Blondie,” Varric urged him. “You have a right to put your side of the story across, and besides, something tells me I might miss you if he whisked you back to Ferelden.”

Anders glanced at Varric, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Really?” he asked.

“Sure!” the dwarf replied, “and your story is by far the most interesting out of all ours. Hawke’s? Too conventional. Fenris’? Well, when he deigns to actually speak to me, his mouth puckers up tighter than a gnat’s asshole; can’t get any information out of that one besides ‘I’m a slave. Danarius must die. I hate everything’. But your story, Blondie?” he said with a glint in his eye, “you’re happy to tell me your story, and I haven’t needed to embellish any of it. You can’t leave my story unfinished. Go and talk to him.”

Anders snorted softly and nodded. “Well if there’s a good reason to risk another punch to the face, it’s for the sake of your story, Varric,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Atta boy!” Varric cheered, and he and Hawke watched as Anders slowly made his way over to where Nathaniel sat.


	2. Anders Is A New Man

Nathaniel closed his eyes and rested his head against the rock wall, trying to make sense of the feelings his reunion with Anders had brought to the surface. So many different thoughts and long-buried emotions had emerged that he could not distinguish a single one from the other; instead they had combined and assailed him all at once, leaving him feeling inert and dismal.

He hadn't meant to fall in love with Anders all those years ago; in fact he'd strenuously fought against it. Anders was a fool who took nothing seriously and would never amount to anything in life; that much Nathaniel had determined the first time they'd met in the dungeons of Vigil's Keep. The mage had laughed, joked and wise-cracked his way through Aedan's interrogation of Nathaniel, who had reserved his most scathing, hate-filled stares for Anders throughout; although he'd later admitted to himself it had been an excuse to keep looking at possibly the most physically attractive man he'd ever laid eyes upon.

Almost immediately after Nathaniel's joining, the flirting had begun. No word that had left his lips, no mannerism or gesture of his had escaped Anders' need to imbue them with a double meaning, and Nathaniel was quite nonplussed at Anders' continual suggestive remarks, winks and lewd smiles. Anders had told him quite directly just how beddable he considered him to be; Nathaniel, still pissed off that Aedan had had the temerity to conscript him, irritably brushed off the mage's remarks, although he did wonder if Anders somehow _knew_. Why else would one man flirt so outrageously with another?

It didn't take Nathaniel long to find out: it soon became apparent that Anders flirted with everyone, males and females alike.

Although Nathaniel had told himself that he wasn't the slightest bit interested in Anders' offer of a quick tumble, he'd felt like a complete fool, and had taken steps to avoid him as much as he possibly could from then onward. Of course Anders wasn't interested in him: he wasn't the most handsome man in Thedas, he never smiled, and he didn't speak that often, either. They were like night and day. Why would someone like Anders go for someone like him?

After almost a week of barely speaking to one another, mainly because Nathaniel had ensured he was never around when Anders was, Anders eventually cornered him in the great hall one night after supper and asked him if he'd offended him in some way, guessing that his flirtatious behaviour had upset him.

"I didn't mean it, you know," Anders had said sincerely. "It's just the way I am. I guess I've let freedom go to my head a bit; it's just so nice to be able to say what's on my mind without having a templar wave his sword at me," he'd explained. "I didn't mean to cause any offence. Do you think we could start again?"

Nathaniel, relieved that the two of them were on speaking terms again, had accepted Anders' apology, and they'd shaken hands. A voice at the back of Nathaniel's mind had screamed at him to tell Anders he hadn't minded the flirting at all, but he'd immediately rejected that idea. He wasn't _ready_ to get close to anyone. Still reeling from the news of his father's death, and from the subsequent discovery of just how evil Rendon Howe had really been, Nathaniel had felt humiliated, lonely and vulnerable, and didn't know who he could trust. As he'd been so wrong about his own father, how could he trust his own judgement when it came to a group of near-strangers?

Nathaniel had convinced himself, as best he could, that Anders would only ever be his friend, although he could swear he'd occasionally caught Anders staring at him, only to immediately glance away once he'd noticed. On each occasion this happened, Nathaniel had castigated himself for his stupidity and for his vanity in believing that such an innocuous gesture might mean something else.

In the months that had followed, Nathaniel had repaired his relationship with Aedan and had grown closer to Anders, as the three of them, among others, had been through many dangerous trials in their endeavour to eradicate the darkspawn threat from Amaranthine. The Wardens had become a tightly-knit unit, and Nathaniel had begun to see a much different side to Anders: he was kind-hearted, expansive and surprisingly passionate on some topics, and Nathaniel suspected he used humour to hide his deeper, sometimes more unpleasant, feelings.

There were other things too about Anders that Nathaniel admired; he was free with his feelings, his money, his laughter and with his time. Anders kept no secrets and told no lies: he was always open and honest, sometimes brutally so. Although he bragged constantly about his sexual prowess and conquests, still Nathaniel saw a simple purity in him; a heartfelt desire to be loved and cared for. There was nothing shadowy or murky about Anders. He was golden, and he was the light, and he was everything that Nathaniel was not; and, despite his best efforts to stand firm, Nathaniel had found himself falling for him, hard.

Determined not to disrupt the rapport that the Wardens now enjoyed, however, he'd kept his feelings firmly buried, and had sworn to himself that he would never act upon them, certain that he would be rejected.

Then, one night, everything had changed.

He and Anders had stayed up late to assist with the excavation of the basement, and had helped themselves to some food and a bottle of wine once they'd finished, taking their meal up on the battlements as it was a warm night.

Anders enjoyed Nathaniel's company immensely; his fellow Warden was learned, erudite and wise, and had an exceedingly dry sense of humour. They were complete opposites, something which gave Anders some much-needed mental stimulation.

Nathaniel seldom smiled, and a laugh from him was a rare event indeed; on the few occasions Anders had actually managed to wring a laugh out of him, he'd cheered inside his head and had longed to hear it again.

They'd often talked about things that nobody else would even consider discussing with Anders: religion, politics, philosophy and the like. Although some of it went over Anders' head, Nathaniel never talked down to him, and if he perceived that Anders was bored, he'd try to make the subject more interesting for him.

Although he'd never have admitted to such a thing, Anders looked up to Nathaniel, secretly wishing he was as smart; what Anders didn't realise, however, was that Nathaniel would have killed for a bit of Anders' quick wit and easy charm.

As they'd begun their meal on the battlements, Anders had found himself gazing at his friend as they discussed the best places to visit in Amaranthine, and the two of them looked in the direction of the city as they'd talked. Nathaniel had been talking quite animatedly about something, but Anders hadn't heard a word, as he'd suddenly found himself fixated on Nathaniel's lips; they were fleshy and dark pink in colour, almost burgundy, and Anders had always noticed how Nathaniel's upper lip curled upwards when he was speaking. When they'd first met, Anders had thought Nathaniel was sneering when he spoke, but it was in fact just the way he was put together.

Anders had continued to stare at those full, generous lips and had wondered what they would taste like, not noticing that Nathaniel had stopped talking and was looking at Anders curiously.

"Are you all right, Anders?" he'd asked. "What are you staring at?"

Anders' eyes had travelled up to meet Nathaniel's, and, without fully realising what he was doing, he'd stepped forward and pressed his lips against Nathaniel's. He'd lingered there for a few seconds, and then, feeling Nathaniel's body stiffen, he'd backed away and cast his eyes to the ground.

"Erm, I'm sorry Nate," he'd mumbled, when in fact he was anything but. "I've wanted to do that for ages." He'd sighed and raised his chin, pointing to it with his finger. "Go on; take your best shot."

Nathaniel did nothing. He didn't move, nor did he speak, and, much to Anders' relief, he didn't punch him, either.

"Do that again," he'd whispered.

Anders did a double-take, sure that his ears were only hearing what his brain _wanted_ him to hear. "Eh?" he'd spluttered inarticulately.

"I said," Nathaniel had said huskily, taking a step closer to him, "do that again. Please."

"Please?" Anders had repeated with a chuckle. "That can only be good!"

"Shut up," Nathaniel had teased, and had returned Anders' kiss with one of his own.

Anders had eventually broken off the kiss to catch his breath, although his face had hovered an inch away from Nathaniels', unable to stop himself from giggling as he suddenly felt giddy in the other man's arms.

"Well, that wasn't entirely unpleasant, was it?" Anders had chirped, suppressing a low moan as he felt Nathaniel's arms tightly wrap around his waist and pull him closer.

"No," Nathaniel had whispered, once again lowering his mouth to Anders', his deep, resonant voice doing something very strange indeed to Anders' insides. This time, there was more urgency to Nathaniel's kiss, and Anders had found, as Nathaniel had finally come up for air, that his usual suave and dry wit had completely deserted him.

"Flaming heck, Nate," he'd gasped, his eyes still closed as Nathaniel rested his forehead against his.

"Indeed," Nathaniel had whispered in that very economical way of his, his soft voice and hot breath causing Anders to bite his own lip as a delicious shiver had travelled through him.

Without another word, Nathaniel had stepped away slightly from Anders and had taken his hand; their eyes had met momentarily and, both knowing what was going to happen, they'd silently made their way to Nathaniel's bedchamber within the Keep, leaving their half-eaten supper on the battlements.

Although Anders had been the most sexually experienced of the two, Nathaniel had dominated their lovemaking that night; Anders had attempted to take the lead several times, only to be firmly, and sometimes forcefully, prevented from doing so. It had to be said, however, that neither was displeased with this arrangement.

When they had finally sated themselves, they'd lain awake for several hours, talking and making promises to one another as they'd curled up together in Nathaniel's bed, finally drifting off into blissful sleep.

Nathaniel had awoken the following morning to find a breakfast tray next to his bed with a small note from Anders.

 _Morning, sexy!_

 _Just popped into Amaranthine. Thought I'd pick up some of that wine you're so fond of, and maybe we could share it later? That is, if I can keep myself from drinking it on the way home…_

 _If I haven't told you a dozen times already, last night was incredible, although I do think a lot of practice may be required just to stop us from getting complacent._

 _Enjoy your breakfast! I'll be back for lunch._

 _See you later!_

 _A_

That had been the last time Nathaniel had seen or heard from him.

At the time, Aedan had shrugged off Nathaniel's concerns when Anders had failed to return by nightfall, reminding him that Anders often did things like that, and that he'd probably met up with some tart in town and shacked up with her for the night. Nathaniel had stormed away, and had taken his horse into the city in the middle of the night with a reluctant Aedan following him for fear of a darkspawn or bandit attack.

After making a few enquiries of the people who were still up, and at the establishments that were still open, they'd spent the night in the city, and in the morning had returned to the Keep, hoping to find Anders there upon their return. When he'd failed to show by the second night, even Aedan had started to worry, and began to send out scouts and search parties.

Aedan had had no idea that anything of a romantic nature had gone on between his two Wardens until Nathaniel had shown him Anders' note. Saddened, he'd committed every available man at the Keep to the search, putting all but the most urgent duties on hold. Aedan and Nathaniel had travelled into Amaranthine several times, had employed people to 'keep their ears to the ground' and had circulated Anders' likeness to everyone they'd come across. Aedan had personally put up a substantial sum of his own money as a reward for any information leading to Anders' return.

They'd done everything they possibly could, and, as days had turned into weeks, and then months, their efforts had gradually dwindled, along with their hopes.

Almost six months after Anders' disappearance, Aedan had asked Nathaniel to consider the possibility that he might be dead; Nathaniel admitted that he'd suspected as much for a while, but hadn't wanted to accept it. They'd both agreed that if it were true, then Anders would need to be commended to the Maker, and they'd held a small service for him at the Keep, conducted by the revered mother of the chantry of our Lady Redeemer.

Not a month after that, Aedan had been killed during a skirmish in the wilds after the Wardens had gone to investigate reports of darkspawn attacks on outlying settlements in the arling. An ogre had been his undoing, which Nathaniel, Oghren and Sigrun had decimated before carrying Aedan's body back to the Keep in silence.

It had been at that point that Nathaniel had pretty much stopped caring about anything, and he'd vowed that he'd never allow himself to get close to anyone again.

And now, six years after they'd last seen each other, he and Anders had been reunited in the deep roads of the Free Marches, of all places. Anders sat with his new friends, just a short distance away from him, and Nathaniel had to admit he found Anders' proximity even more disturbing and discomfiting than the discovery of the dead Wardens.

Although part of him had rejoiced at the discovery that Anders was alive, the rest of him had been overwhelmed at the stirring of old feelings he'd vowed he'd always keep tucked deep inside, never again to see the light of day. Nathaniel wanted to hurt Anders as much as he wanted to hold him; he wanted to gut him as much as he wanted to collapse, weeping, at his feet. He felt joy and gratitude, fury, hurt and bitterness, all of which had combined and concentrated into a tight, painful ball in the pit of his stomach.

Whatever it was that had caused Anders to flee Ferelden, couldn't he have got a message to Vigil's Keep, anything, no matter how small, just to let them know that he was _alive_? And why hadn't he sought help from his fellow Wardens, his sworn brothers? Had Anders just grown tired of life at the Keep, and sought pastures new? Had he regretted the night he and Nathaniel had spent together?

He closed his eyes again and hoped for sleep to find him swiftly; he couldn't bear feeling the way he did for much longer.

"Nate? Can I talk to you?"

Nathaniel started and opened his eyes a little, not needing to move his head to see Anders standing a short distance away.

"Sod off, Anders," he bit out, anger welling up inside him. "I really don't want to hear your voice at the moment."

He heard Anders' lengthy intake of breath, and saw him take a few hesitant steps toward him, before sitting down on the ground and crossing his legs.

"Well then, it's going to be a long journey back to Ferelden, isn't it?" Anders asked.

Nathaniel folded his arms and tucked himself against the rock wall, turning away from Anders and closing his eyes.

Anders wrapped his arms around his knees and sighed. "I don't expect you to be pleased to see me, Nate," he said quietly. "I know…I know how much I've hurt you. I just…will you let me explain?"

Nathaniel felt a dull ache in between his eyes and grimaced as pressure began to build in his head.

"Well, I'm going to tell you, anyway," Anders said, watching Nathaniel warily, knowing that a long, protracted silence from him was never a good sign, and that he could snap at any moment.

"You were right, Nate: I made a terrible mistake merging with Justice," he admitted, his eyes never leaving his Commander. "I've done some stupid things in my life, but…" He sighed and shuffled a little closer to Nathaniel. "I thought I was helping a friend at the time, but once we'd merged, he changed, Nate."

Nathaniel's head turned a little; Anders, hoping that he was listening, and that he would believe his story, continued.

"That morning, Nate, after we'd…after we'd spent the night together, I ran into a group of templars by the woods on the Turnoble estate…"

Nathaniel's head snapped up and his eyes opened, although he still didn't look at Anders. "Templars?" he asked.

"They attacked me," Anders continued. "I-I did something, Nate."

"It was you!" Nathaniel exclaimed, quickly scrambling to his feet. "I remember when those templars were found…there was nothing left of them! What the hell did you do to them?"

"I…we…I don't remember what we did. I just remember them lying at my feet, their skin…their…all that was left of them was blackened skin and bones…even their armour had melted." Anders wrapped his arms around his shoulders and drew his knees closer to his chest.

"Are you saying Justice was responsible for that?" Nathaniel asked doubtfully. "From what I remember of Justice, he was a temperate and honourable spirit. He wouldn't have done something like that."

"You forget, Nate; he was merciless in his pursuit of justice," Anders answered. "He'd wanted to kill Velanna in cold blood, remember? He'd wanted you locked up for breaking into your own home and stealing your own things!"

"Then why in the Maker's name would you merge with him?" Nathaniel demanded.

"Because I'm an idiot, that's why!" Anders blurted out. "At the time, I-I just wanted to give him a body to inhabit, and I benefited, too – I became more resolved and determined to right the wrongs perpetrated on mages throughout Thedas..."

Nathaniel frowned as he could almost hear Justice's voice coming through in Anders' words.

"…but it soon became apparent that he has his own agenda," Anders said quietly, "and sometimes he acts through me without me having any control over it."

"You _knew_ this?" Nathaniel asked angrily. "You knew all of this when I took you into my bed?"

"No!" Anders said pleadingly. "I swear I didn't, Nate! The incident with the templars was the first time, I promise!"

Nathaniel laughed bitterly. "You _promise_? Just like all of those other promises you made to me that night, Anders? I don't believe a word of it! If Justice is so bent on protecting you, then why didn't he react when I struck you?"

Anders hung his head. "Because he believes your actions were just."

"He has a rather skewed idea of what is just, doesn't he?" Nathaniel asked. "A few templars knock you about a bit, so Justice annihilates them? How is _that_ just?"

"I told you, he changed," Anders retorted.

"How convenient," Nathaniel snapped, waving his hand dismissively. "Go back and join your friends. I'm done talking to you."

"No, you're not!" Anders countered, springing to his feet and quickly walking over to Nathaniel. "You're not going into one of your sulks! You're going to listen to what I have to say!"

Nathaniel backed away from Anders as he approached, a look of astonishment on his face. "Your eyes! What…?"

"Stop right there, Nathaniel!" Hawke called out as he and Varric ran over to them. Nathaniel froze and Anders turned away from them, his hands covering his face.

"Sorry to intrude, messere," Varric said to Nathaniel, "but we saw you reaching for your daggers. Not a good idea, kiddo."

"You mustn't pull a weapon on Anders without provocation," Hawke explained. "We've seen the consequences of that action many times before."

Nathaniel held his hands up in front of him, keeping them well away from his weapons. "What _are_ you?" he asked Anders.

"Now do you see why I had to leave?" Anders implored, turning back to face him. "I'm a monster! I'm not safe to be around!"

"You could have come to us for help!" Nathaniel insisted. "We were supposed to be your brothers and sisters!"

"No," Anders said sadly, shaking his head. "I couldn't put any of you at risk like that…"

"And you couldn't even let us know you were safe? That you were alive?"

"You were better off without me," Anders said with a pleading look. "I'd rather you hated me, or believed I was dead, than for you to suffer the same fate as those templars. I did it because I loved you, Nate."

Varric glanced at Hawke and jerked his head.

"We'll, erm…we'll give you some privacy," said Hawke. "We'll move further up the chamber; just please, Nathaniel, don't draw a weapon on him."

Nathaniel, his eyes locked with Anders', nodded mutely.

"Fenris!" Hawke called out, beckoning him over as he and Varric walked away; the elf rose to his feet and cast Nathaniel and Anders a sour glance before joining them.


	3. Trouble In Paradise

As Hawke, Varric and Fenris disappeared out of sight, Anders and Nathaniel stood a few metres apart from one another, neither of them speaking or looking at the other. Only a short distance separated them, and yet a yawning gulf of mistrust, hurt, anger and guilt stood between them, and neither knew how to cross it.

Nathaniel had been floored by Anders' admission of love; there had been no mention of love during the night they'd spent together, although Nathaniel had felt it very deeply and had hoped that Anders had felt the same.

So why mention it now?

Was this the silver-tongued Anders of old, saying just the right thing at just the right time to get himself out of a fix? Was he trying to soften Nathaniel up, so that he'd change his mind about taking him back to Ferelden? Or had he meant it? Had he really loved Nathaniel at one time?

And when Anders had become agitated, had insisted that Nathaniel hear him out, his eyes had burned with a pale blue flame, and every single vein beneath his skin had flared momentarily. Not only had his voice changed, but also his gait, his posture, and the very mannerisms that made Anders _Anders_ , were gone; for a brief second, he'd been a complete stranger.

Nathaniel had gone from feeling furious and righteous to feeling lost and uncertain in a very short space of time; he almost expected the ground to crumble away beneath his feet at any moment, sending him plummeting into unknown depths. He winced slightly as his stomach flipped and a bitter taste came into his mouth.

Noticing from the corner of his eye that Anders was watching him, he held his breath as Anders took a few halting steps toward him.

"Nate," he said softly.

"Just stay where you are," Nathaniel ordered, maintaining the distance between them by taking a few steps backward.

"There's no reason to be afraid of me." Anders halted, looking at Nathaniel hopefully.

"That's not what your friend implied just now," Nathaniel answered, refusing to meet Anders' eye. "And that… _thing_ you turned into…"

"That wasn't me," Anders said sadly. "He only appears when I get angry or when…well, when something _unjust_ occurs. You have nothing to fear from me, Nate, I swear; just…just do what Hawke said, and you'll be fine."

Nathaniel finally looked at him, seeing only Anders this time, but this wasn't the Anders he used to know; this Anders spoke softly and seemed to choose every word carefully before it left his mouth. He carried himself differently, too: the swagger and cocky strut were no longer present; instead he moved hesitantly as though afraid of making his presence known, as if he didn't want to be looked at. There was a fragile quality to Anders, now. What Nathaniel was unsure of was whether this was down to Justice's influence on him, or because of guilt. Whatever it was, it seemed to be crushing him.

Nathaniel faltered, inwardly scolding himself; he was supposed to be angry with Anders, not feeling sympathy for him! Needing to put more distance between the two of them, he held his hand up in front of him and slowly unsheathed his daggers, took up his bow and quiver, then walked a short distance away and placed them on the ground before returning.

"Thank you, Nate," Anders whispered as he turned away from him and wrapped his arms around himself.

 _What's happened to him?_ Nathaniel felt his stomach churn again.

Another long silence stretched out between them and seemed to fill the cavern, reaching its farthest corners; an insubstantial cacophony that almost deafened them.

"How are your ribs?" Anders blurted out, turning his head a little toward Nathaniel, desperate to hear his voice.

"That was you, then?" he answered, touching his side. "They're fine. Thank you."

"Good." Anders turned fully to face him _._ "Nate, I, um…well, it's good to see you again. Whatever else we say to each other tonight, I just wanted you to know that."

Nathaniel exhaled heavily and started to pace, his agitation clear. "You should have let us…let _me_ know you were alive."

"No," Anders said, shaking his head, slowly taking a few steps closer. "You would have followed me, and you would have found me. I was frightened and didn't know what I was capable of; you have to understand, Nate, I did it because…"

"Because you loved me; yes, you've already said," Nathaniel interrupted, grimacing as his stomach lurched painfully.

"Are you all right?" Anders asked, unthinkingly starting towards him. "Do you feel ill?"

Anders halted as Nathaniel pinned him with a look, the warning in his eyes all too evident.

"It's nothing," he mumbled.

"Is your stomach playing up?" Anders asked. "I remember it always used to when you were upset about something."

"I told you, it's nothing."

"Will you let me…will you let me help you?" Anders offered, taking a step closer.

Nathaniel gasped and gritted his teeth as he felt searing bile rise into his throat; he was going to be sick.

"Please," Anders pleaded, standing at Nathaniel's side. "I can't bear to see you like this."

Nathaniel nodded and watched, wide-eyed, as Anders' hand moved toward him.

"I'm just going to touch your belly, Nate, all right?" Anders explained.

Although Nathaniel knew that physical touch was not necessary for a healing spell to work, he watched without protest as Anders' hand softly pressed against him, feeling himself break out in a cold sweat at his touch.

"It's all right," Anders whispered, closing his eyes. "I'll take it away."

Nathaniel couldn't help but stare at Anders' face as he sent assuasive energy into him, noticing how he'd subtly aged; the fine lines around his eyes were just a little more pronounced, and his skin, which had always been flawless, was now marred by blemishes and open pores. Then Nathaniel noticed something new: a deep furrow running between Anders' eyes that hadn't been there six years ago. His eyes were then drawn along Anders' long, slightly prominent nose, to his angular jaw and chin, and his ever-present stubble.

Nathaniel screwed his eyes closed as the memory of how that stubble had felt against his thighs, against his balls, came uninvited into his mind.

"There, you're fit as a fiddle again." Anders completed his spell and opened his eyes, but he did not remove his hand from Nathaniel's belly, nor did he fail to notice his expression.

Slowly, Anders slid his hand around Nathaniel's waist and gazed deeply into his eyes. "Nate…"

Nathaniel stepped away and gulped hard, his head swimming at Anders' proximity to him.

"Nate," Anders implored, closing the gap between them. "Please, don't shut me out."

"Anders, I _can't_ ," said Nathaniel breathlessly, holding his hands up in front of him.

"Please, just let me…let me touch you," Anders whispered shakily, hesitantly raising his hand toward Nathaniel's face.

"Don't!" Nathaniel's voice held a note of warning, although he didn't move away.

"Just…" Anders fell silent for a moment as his thumb made contact with Nathaniel's cheek and his fingers curled through his black locks. "Just let me touch you…I've missed you so much, Nate."

Nathaniel's breathing quickened and his heart thudded in his chest as Anders wrapped his other arm around his waist. "Please, Nate," he breathed, as he brought his mouth closer.

"No!" Nathaniel insisted, pushing him away and taking several steps back. "I won't let you do this to me again!" He stomped over to his small firepit and kicked his backpack, sending it flying several feet away, spilling its contents as it landed.

"Damn you, Anders! I wish you'd never come here!" He turned his back on Anders and stood with one hand on his hip, the other covering his eyes.

Anders felt like he'd been punched in the gut; all the air rushed out of his lungs and he hunched over, his arms folded tightly across his belly. Tears pricked at his eyes and he quickly blinked them away, taking several steadying breaths.

"I-I'm sorry Nate," he said, his voice heavy. "I'm sorry…for everything. I'll, erm, I'll go and sit with the others. I won't bother you anymore."

Nathaniel removed his hand from his face and watched Anders walk away. "Damn you, Anders," he muttered to himself, and took a few steps forward, calling softly, "Anders."

Anders halted and turned, although his eyes were fixed on the ground.

"You don't…you don't have to go." Nathaniel felt as though his words were being spoken by someone else; it was the worst thing he could have said, and yet it had spilled from his mouth without a thought.

"You're sure?" Anders asked in a whisper, fragile hope causing his body to fully turn in Nathaniel's direction.

"No, I'm _not_ sure." Nathaniel stared at his feet. "I'm not sure of anything."

Cautiously _,_ Anders made his way over to where Nathaniel stood and stopped a few feet in front of him. "I just wanted to touch you again, Nate. I don't want to hurt you again, though. I don't know what to do."

Nathaniel sighed softly and stepped closer. "Neither do I, Anders."

"No matter what else happens tonight, Nate, please let me have this." Anders pulled him into a deep embrace, burying his face in Nathaniel's hair.

Nathaniel closed his eyes and slowly brought his hands around Anders' waist, inhaling that familiar bracing scent of his, like pine needles and fresh snow.

"Nate, I'm _so_ sorry," Anders said in a broken voice, and Nathaniel gasped as he felt sobs wrack Anders' body.

"What's happened to you?" he murmured _._ "What has he _done_ to you?"

"It doesn't matter now," Anders whimpered against his neck. "All that matters is that you're here, and that we're together again."

As Anders wrapped his arms tighter around Nathaniel's neck and gripped his tunic, Nathaniel rested his head on Anders' shoulder, feeling his previous anger dissolve; instead, a creeping dread came upon him, and he found himself desperately worried.

"This is not you, Anders," he said with concern, gently trying to pull away, but Anders wouldn't let him go.

"Just let me stay a little longer," entreated Anders. "Th-there hasn't been anyone since you, Nate. I was afraid to."

"There hasn't been for me, either." Nathaniel felt Anders' grip on him soften slightly.

Still keeping his arms around Nathaniel's neck, Anders drew his head slightly back, but couldn't meet Nathaniel's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again, sniffling. "Here's me feeling all sorry for myself, and you…I'm sorry about what happened to your friends. And Aedan, too."

Nathaniel removed his arms from around Anders' waist and reached up to his face, brushing his tears aside with his thumbs. "I shouldn't have just blurted that out," he admitted. "It must have come as a terrible shock to you. And I…I'm sorry I hit you."

Anders laughed mirthlessly. "I deserved that."

"No, no you didn't," Nathaniel replied. "I can see now that things are not as black and white as I'd thought. I just…" He sighed and rested his hands on Anders' shoulders. "I guess being angry is the only thing that's kept me going all this time. If I'd admitted to myself how desperately I missed you, and how much I loved you, then perhaps…"

Anders' head snapped up, his eyes locking with Nathaniel's. "You loved me?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Of course. I should have told you at the time."

"We both should have said it." Anders grinned slightly. "But I don't suppose that would have been very manly, would it?"

"No, I don't suppose it would," Nathaniel answered with a soft smile.

They rested against each other for a moment, just content to be in each other's arms _._ Not quite sure where to look, their eyes lingered on the other's neck and chest. They were both acutely aware of the other's breathing, and Anders closed his eyes, feeling safe and normal for the first time in six years.

"Your hair's different," Nathaniel commented with a glance at the top of Anders' head. "It's a different colour, too…more red."

Anders opened his eyes and looked up, a wide grin lighting up his face. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"No, I hate it," Nathaniel answered with a quirk of his lips. "It's bloody awful."

Anders' eyes crinkled at the corners and he slid his arms up Nathaniel's back. "Honest as always, Nate."

"Always," Nathaniel whispered in response, and craned his neck forward, placing a gentle kiss on Anders' lips.

"Maker," Anders breathed, his eyes still closed as Nathaniel released his mouth. "Maker, I've missed you."

"How much?" Nathaniel asked, brushing his nose against Anders', their lips almost touching _._

Moving his hands down to Nathaniel's hips, Anders covered Nathaniel's mouth with his, taking his bottom lip and softly sucking on it, eliciting a deep moan from Nathaniel, who grasped the back of Anders' head with his hand and pulled him closer, crushing his lips with a greedy, bruising kiss. Anders' head fell back and Nathaniel stroked down the length of his neck with his fingers, brushing his lips against Anders' stubble, downward to the soft skin of his throat, where he sucked in a mouthful of flesh and softly bit down.

"Agh…Nate!" Anders cried out.

Nathaniel raised himself to his full height and placed a finger over the dazed Anders' lips. "Shh. Company," he mumbled.

Anders nodded, keeping his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them, he'd wake up from a dream. He felt Nathaniel's arm wrap around his waist, gently guiding him further back into the cave, and Anders leaned into him as they walked together. Nathaniel stopped and turned Anders around a little, gently pushing him against the rock face. Anders rested against it, still not opening his eyes.

"Look at me," Nathaniel instructed softly.

"I don't want this to end, Nate." Anders reached out and clasped Nathaniel's arms _._ "I don't want to dream about you, only to wake up to find you're not there, like I have almost every night for the last…"

"I'm real," Nathaniel answered, softly cupping Anders' face in his hands. "Now, open your eyes and look at me."

After a few moments of hesitation, Anders slowly opened his eyes to find Nathaniel's boring into his with a keen and hungry look. Nathaniel took a step back and allowed his eyes to roam over Anders' body, causing a frisson of desire to surge through the mage's body.

"Too many clothes," Nathaniel said huskily. "Take them off."

Pressing his lips tightly together and nodding, Anders slowly moved his hands to his feathered jacket, unclasping it and letting it fall to the floor. As he began to undo the buckles on his coat, he heard Nathaniel's breathing grow heavier.

"Faster," he ordered.

With a grin Anders obliged, and, for a moment, worked a little faster; then, as the bare skin of his chest was gradually revealed, he once again slowed his movements.

"I told you to go faster," Nathaniel growled.

"You did," Anders teased, running a finger down the length of his chest and allowing his coat to fall open, revealing a taut chest and abdomen with a sprinkling of golden hair. "But I chose to ignore you."

Nathaniel stepped forward and grabbed the shoulders of Anders' coat, roughly pushing it down his arms. Anders threw his head back and laughed softly, and, as the coat fell to the ground, Nathaniel slowly ran his hands down Anders' arms.

"Can you stay quiet?" Nathaniel asked him with a wicked glint in his eye.

"More to the point, can you?" Anders asked. "You were the _shouter_ , not me."

"That's not how _I_ remember it," Nathaniel said with mock severity, reaching behind Anders' head to undo his ponytail.

"Well, you _are_ older than me; I can excuse a few memory lapses," Anders teased, and Nathaniel's stern act dropped for a second as he laughed, delighted to see a glimpse of the Anders he used to know.

"Come on," Nathaniel urged and took one of Anders' hands, then lowered himself to the ground in a sitting position with his legs stretched out.

Anders, reminded of their first and only night together, joined him on the floor and lay beside Nathaniel on his back, hissing as his skin made contact with the cold stone.

Nathaniel lay down next to him, propping himself up on one elbow, his other hand trailing down Anders' chest, following the line of hair that disappeared under his breeches.

"This is just like that night," Anders said softly, his eyes moist as he looked into Nathaniel's. "In front of the fire…" He closed his eyes and felt Nathaniel's breath on his face, then moaned as Nathaniel dragged his upper lip along his jawline, lightly nipping occasionally. He inhaled sharply as he felt Nathaniel's hand reach his waistband and linger there for a moment, before moving downward to cup his erection through his breeches.

"Nate…" Anders whined and pushed himself against Nathaniel's hand, raising his own hands to clasp Nathaniel's shoulders.

Nathaniel removed his hand from Anders' breeches and moved it to his face, stroking Anders' cheek with the back of his hand as he smiled at him. "You're still the handsomest man I know," he told him, "and you still make me weak at the knees."

"That'll be your age again," Anders laughed.

"Bastard." Nathaniel laughed in return, and moved his thigh in between Anders' legs, transferring his weight so that his hip pressed directly against Anders' now throbbing cock. "Tell me again how much you want me, Anders?"

"Nate, please!" he moaned as Nathaniel ground his hips against Anders' hardness. "Please…can't you tell?"

"I want you to show me," he growled in Anders' ear.

"All right," Anders said quietly, and quickly sat up, pushing Nathaniel hard onto his back. Anders immediately clambered on top of him, feeling Nathaniel's own erection against his balls. Nathaniel wriggled and attempted to grab Anders' arms, trying to gain the upper hand, but Anders was too fast for him, and he grabbed Nathaniel's wrists, pinning his arms out from his sides.

"Not this time, Nate," he said playfully as he looked down at him. "This time, we're doing it my way."

"We'll see about that." Nathaniel was grinning up at him.

"Will we?" Anders ground his bottom against Nathaniel's erection; Nathaniel gasped and shuddered beneath him. Feeling Nathaniel's arms relax a little, Anders released them, and, pleased to see that Nathaniel remained where he was, he began to undo his tunic.

"I'm in charge now," he teased, and Nathaniel, his head lolled to the side as he watched Anders' hands, glanced up at him, and they both laughed softly _._ For a brief moment, they were no longer two Wardens in a cold, dark cavern, but were old friends, ones who happened to be in love, teasing and playing with each other in front of the fire in Nathaniel's bedroom.

Anders spread Nathaniel's tunic open and sighed at the black thicket of hair that covered his belly and chest. He pushed his pelvis down to Nathaniel's knees and lowered his mouth to his abdomen, inhaling Nathaniel's earthy, spicy scent.

Nathaniel's eyes closed and his mouth fell open as Anders _'_ mouth grazed his belly, one moment taking his hair in between his teeth and tugging hard; the next, placing whisper-soft kisses to soothe the mild pain. Involuntarily, Nathaniel raised his pelvis a little as Anders travelled lower, and hardly noticed as Anders unbuckled his belt and unlaced his breeches.

Anders smiled to himself as he brought his hand down and grabbed a handful of Nathaniel's thigh. "Maker, your thighs are meaty," he chuckled to himself, and, without warning, he nipped lightly at the end of Nathaniel's cock through his small clothes.

"Anders!" Nathaniel gasped, his hands clawing at the stone and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Now who's the shouter?" Anders bent to Nathaniel's groin, and slowly licked along the length of his shaft, feeling a shudder travel though Nathaniel's body as he did so, then gently nipped at his tip once again.

Quickly, Nathaniel grabbed the back of Anders' head and pushed himself up to meet him; with his other hand he tugged at his breeches but could only get one side of them down. Anders very willingly obliged and helped pull them down to his knees, along with his small clothes, Nathaniel hissing as the cold air hit his cock.

Anders looked up the length of Nathaniel's body and, catching his eye, winked at him; Nathaniel's head fell back and Anders saw the bob of his adam's apple as he gulped hard. Anders snuggled down between Nathaniel's thighs and gently gripped the base of his shaft with one hand, his other slowly stroking between his perineum and ball sac. Moving his head down, he gently kissed Nathaniel's shaft and then cheekily nipped at it again.

"Ugh!" Nathaniel grunted, bucking his hips, unable to hold back at the feel of Anders' teeth against his member.

"Shhh!" Anders whispered. "Company."

"I don't _care_ ," Nathaniel rasped, and pushed Anders' head closer to him with his hand. "Anders…please…"

"Far be it from me to disobey my Commander," Anders smirked, and, removing his hand from Nathaniel's balls, he placed his index finger in his mouth, coating it in saliva, and slowly moved his hand down to Nathaniel's cheeks, parting them with his thumb and middle finger. Nathaniel hunkered down a little and parted his legs wide, and he simultaneously felt Anders' one hand close around his shaft, while the other hovered at his entrance.

"I've missed your taste, Nathaniel," Anders drawled, his eyes soft and heavy-lidded as he looked up at him; Nathaniel did not return his look, as his own eyes were closed and he softly moaned to himself in anticipation.

Anders slowly retracted Nate's foreskin, and Nathaniel gasped as he felt the cold air once again, then cried aloud as the searing heat of Anders' mouth enveloped him without warning.

"Maker!" he rasped as Anders squeezed him tightly, and his entire body shook as he felt Anders' finger slip inside him.

Anders began to grasp and suck hard on him; Nathaniel knew he wouldn't last long as he looked down at the man he loved, the _only_ man he'd ever loved, slowly moving up and down his shaft, his eyes closed in concentration and bliss. Nathaniel wanted to prolong the experience as much as possible and tried to hold himself back, but each time he did, Anders seemed to sense it and re-doubled his efforts, quickening his pace and intensifying the pressure he applied; and, when Anders' finger began to move in time with his mouth, Nathaniel knew his efforts were in vain as all self-control left him.

His hips began to move of their own volition as he sought oblivion in Anders' hot mouth, but, just as he felt himself unravel, Anders suddenly stopped and looked up.

"You all right up there?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. "You're very quiet."

"Urgh!" Nathaniel snarled in frustration and grabbed Anders' hair with both hands, driving him down onto his cock and thrusting hard into his mouth, Anders' stubble roughly scraping against him as he did so. Anders pressed hard against the tender spot deep inside Nathaniel and vibrated his finger, watching the rapid rise and fall of Nathaniel's belly, listening to his desperate moans.

"Anders…!" Nathaniel croaked, feeling a sphere of heat and pressure build deep in his belly and he gnashed his teeth, grunting loudly, as the sphere expanded and filled every part of his body at once, detaching him from reality. Anders removed his mouth and squeezed the head of his shaft hard, directing Nathaniel's essence onto his belly, where it clung to the thick hair.

Anders, overcome at the sight of his beloved lose control at his touch, ran his hand through Nathaniel's fluid, coating his fingers, and clambered up his body, lying directly between his legs. He grasped the back of Nathaniel's head with one hand, and with the other, smeared Nathaniel's mouth with his own ejaculate, and lowered himself onto him, licking and biting at Nathaniel's moistened lips.

Nathaniel gripped Anders' buttocks tightly and rutted against his leg, still feelings jolts of pleasure charge through him, and as Anders' tongue delved greedily into his mouth, he tasted himself, a thrill running through him anew.

Anders, panting and overwhelmed, reached behind himself and took one of Nathaniel's hands, moving them around to his cock; although shattered and weakened, Nathaniel grasped it tightly and moved his hand in time with Anders' hips, his other hand remaining on Anders' buttock, kneading and pinching his firm flesh.

"Nate…hold me," Anders whispered, burying his face in Nathaniel's neck and reaching for one of his legs, hooking it around his waist. Understanding, Nathaniel wrapped his other leg around Anders' back, and he moved his free hand to rest on Anders' head as he devoured Nathaniel's neck, thrusting into his hand.

"I love you, Nate." Anders' voice was laced with desperation as he slid his hands under Nathaniel's arms, lifting him slightly off the floor as wrapped his arms around his back and started to move his whole body against Nathaniel's, resting his head against the ground next to Nathaniel's head; he didn't want him to see him cry again.

"I love you, Anders," Nathaniel said into his ear, and, at his words, Anders' body shuddered violently and he screeched against Nathaniel's shoulder, filling his hand with seed, and collapsed heavily on top of him, laying his head on Nathaniel's chest.

Anders shifted, burying his face in Nathaniel's thick hair. "Thank you...thank you," he mumbled, dashing his tears away with his hand, not realising that Nathaniel had already felt them moisten his chest _._

"No matter what happens, I will always treasure this night, Nate," he whispered. "Thank you for making me feel like me again."

"Shh, it's all right," Nathaniel soothed, stroking Anders' hair off his face. "Go to sleep, love. We'll talk in the morning."

"Thank you," Anders said again, clinging tightly onto his chest as he closed his eyes.

Nathaniel watched him for a while and, when he was certain he was asleep, he gently rolled Anders off him, making sure he was comfortable, then stood up, covered Anders with his coat, and dressed himself. He returned to Anders' side and sat next to him, watching him sleep, deeply troubled at the change he'd seen in this man.

Anders had never been clingy or over-emotional, even during the last time they'd made love, which had been a huge emotional release for both of them. And why did he keep saying 'no matter what happens'? What did that _mean_? Was he in trouble? Danger? Was something going to happen?

Feeling tired, Nathaniel did his best to push these thoughts out of his mind, and lay down next to Anders, facing him; he brought his hand up to Anders' face and rested it against his cheek. As he closed his eyes, he resolved to get Hawke on his own tomorrow and get some answers from him. Anders was in trouble, that much was obvious, and he intended to find out exactly how.


	4. A Nagging Doubt

Nathaniel's eyes fluttered open and he took a moment to get his bearings. Feeling warm breath against his neck, he turned to face Anders, who had moved up a little and now lay with his head on Nathaniel's shoulder, and with an arm and a leg wrapped around him.

Nathaniel shifted a little, his body aching as he did so; a night spent on cold stone was not conducive to restful sleep. He had no idea of the time of day, or night, but his bone-dry mouth told him he'd slept for at least few hours.

He watched Anders for a little while, marvelling at how comfortable he looked, how peaceful and content his expression was. Anders had never been much of a sleeper; at Vigil's Keep he'd been known for staying up for most of the night chatting to the guards, and then dozing during the day, particularly after a heavy meal. Nathaniel smiled softly to himself as it appeared that on this occasion, Anders had slept right through the night.

His face fell a little as his concerns about Anders punctuated his thoughts. Listening carefully, he could hear soft voices coming from further down the cavern, and knew that the others must be awake.

He carefully moved Anders' arm and leg, taking great care not to wake him, and pushed himself up, replacing Anders' coat over him. Smoothing his hair down, he took a deep breath, certain that Hawke and his companions must have heard his and Anders' lovemaking, and stepped out into the main body of the chamber.

Sure enough, Hawke, Varric and Fenris had risen, and appeared to be fixing breakfast.

"Good morning," he greeted them as he approached.

"Good morning, Nathaniel," Hawke replied, not quite looking at him. Fenris, who was oiling his sword, nodded curtly, clearly disdainful of someone who would couple with an abomination.

"There's plenty here for you and Blondie," Varric said generously, gesturing to several large hunks of bread and cheese and a small pile of apples. "Trouble is, the only thing we have to drink is hot water, as _someone_ forgot to pack the tea," he said with a pointed look at Hawke.

Hawke turned and exaggeratedly narrowed his eyes at Varric. "Well, _someone_ had more important things to consider at the time; rescuing Nathaniel, for one thing?"

"And very grateful I am for that, serah," Nathaniel said, with a small bow. "I have some tea; I'll fetch it in a moment."

Varric threw his arms into the air and laughed. "Ah! My hero!"

"Mine too. Perhaps _he'll_ shut up, now," said Hawke, pointing at Varric.

Nathaniel smiled politely and approached Hawke. "I was wondering if I might speak to you in private?"

Hawke glanced up the cavern towards where Anders still slept around a corner. "Is this concerning Anders?" he asked quietly, so the others wouldn't hear.

Nathaniel nodded, and Hawke walked a little away from the group, with Nathaniel following. They stopped a short distance away.

"What would you like to know?" asked Hawke.

"How long have you known him for?" Nathaniel asked.

"He's been with us for…five years, give or take."

"And was he always like he is now?" Nathaniel asked.

Hawke frowned, looking a little confused. "Do you mean was Justice a part of him?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "I'm sorry, I wasn't very clear. What I meant was, Anders was a different person when I knew him previously." His eyes misted over for a moment as her remembered the carefree, gregarious Anders. "I hardly recognise him anymore…he's changed."

"Well, Anders as a person hasn't changed much in the time _I've_ known him, but…" Hawke glanced away from Nathaniel and hesitated.

"But what?" Nathaniel demanded.

Hawke looked down the length of the cavern and sighed. "Well, as I said, Anders hasn't changed much; Justice, on the other hand, has."

Nathaniel folded his arms. "Explain."

"Nathaniel, may I ask what your plans for Anders are? Do you intend to take him back to Ferelden as soon as we leave the deep roads?"

"I haven't decided yet," Nathaniel answered. "Things are not as…clear as they first appeared to be."

"Then will you be staying in Kirkwall for a while?" asked Hawke, and Nathaniel nodded. "In that case, I recommend we have this conversation elsewhere; it could be a lengthy one."

"Where would you suggest?" asked Nathaniel.

"Are you familiar with Hightown?"

"A little; I'm staying on the outskirts of Kirkwall, but I haven't ventured into Hightown since I was squired here as a young lad," Nathaniel answered.

"Well, once we reach the surface, I daresay Anders will return to his clinic," Hawke began.

"Clinic?"

Hawke nodded. "Anders treats refugees during the day at a clinic in Darktown; it's also a part of the underground network that helps apostates."

Nathaniel smiled. "That seems very fitting for Anders."

"Well, while he's there, come and see me at my estate in Hightown. Any street vendor will direct you to it."

"Thank you," Nathaniel said sincerely. "Does any particular time suit?"

"Come when it pleases you. We'd all planned to take a rest after coming to find you, anyway; I'll be there, unless something urgent crops up."

Nathaniel extended his hand and Hawke shook it. "Thank you again," Nathaniel said. "For everything."

Hawke nodded and led Nathaniel back to where the others sat. "Bring Anders down here and once we've eaten, I'd quite like to get back to the surface; dark, dank caverns might suit you Wardens, but they're not really my thing," Hawke told him.

"And don't forget the tea," Varric reminded him with a bright smile.

After taking the tea to Varric, Nathaniel returned to Anders and, crouching down, gently shook him.

Anders mumbled to himself and slowly opened his eyes, a bleary smile forming on his lips as he laid eyes on Nathaniel. "It wasn't a dream, then. And you're still here when I wake."

"No, it wasn't a dream," said Nathaniel, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. "You know, I've never known you to sleep so soundly."

Anders stretched his arms above his head and yawned. "Well, I don't think I've ever been so content. Except once before, perhaps."

Nathaniel grunted softly and outstretched his hand, which Anders took, and helped pull him to his feet, his coat falling to the ground as he stood.

"Maker, my fucking back!" Anders moaned and grimaced as he stretched again; he then noticed Nathaniel looking at his naked body appreciatively.

Immediately, he placed a hand over his cock. "Look, it's _very_ cold in here. This is not an accurate representation of the goods on offer," he joked, referring to his shrivelled genitalia.

Nathaniel picked up his coat and passed it to him. "I _know_ what you look like, Anders. You have nothing to worry about, trust me."

Anders smiled and watched Nathaniel as he went to retrieve his weapons. "Am I all right to…?" Nathaniel asked, and Anders nodded.

As Nathaniel sheathed his daggers and slung his bow and quiver across his back, Anders dressed himself. Nathaniel walked over to him, stopping in front of him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Anders hung his head and grinned. "Look, I'm sorry I was a little, erm, emotional last night. It was just…just a lot to take in, seeing you and being with you. And after you'd seen…" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Well, you still accepted me, Nate. That meant a lot to me."

Nathaniel averted his eyes, nodded and crouched down, busying himself with dousing the now guttering fire.

"Are… _you_ all right?" asked Anders.

"Yes I'm fine, thank you," Nathaniel said distractedly as he threw water over the smouldering ashes.

Anders stood rooted to the spot, feeling his belly quiver with anxiety. Was Nathaniel being a little…distant? Or was he imagining things?

 _Of course he's being distant. He used you to get what he wanted, and now he's done with you. Can't you see what he's trying to do? He's trying to stir up your old feelings to make it easier for him to take you back! Go on, ask him what he intends to do with you! See what his answer is!_

"So, what happens now, Nate?" Anders asked, a little nervously, Nathaniel noted. "Are-are you still planning to take me back?"

Nathaniel glanced up at him, seeing fear in his eyes. "I _would_ like you to come back with me, yes, but I would prefer that you come voluntarily."

 _See? He's trying to manipulate you!_

"No!" Anders said suddenly, and Nathaniel, alarmed, hurriedly rose to his feet.

"No, what?"

Anders turned away from him and folded his arms around himself; a gesture that Nathaniel had never seen Anders do before that night.

"I-I can't go back, Nate," he said quietly.

Nathaniel remained where he was. "Why?"

Anders remained silent for several moments, unsure of what to say. Eventually, he blurted out, "He won't let me."

"Who? Justice?" Nathaniel walked over to Anders and stood directly in front of him. Anders didn't move, but couldn't meet his eyes. "You have free will, Anders. You can go where you please," he said firmly.

Anders raised his hand to his mouth and chewed at one of his fingernails. "It's not that simple, Nate."

"Then make it simple. Tell me why," Nathaniel demanded.

 _You don't have to tell him anything. He's trying to interfere!_

Anders moved away again and kicked a few bits of rock that lay on the ground. "We-we have something to do here."

"We? Or him?" Nathaniel challenged.

 _We've worked too hard and for too long to let him ruin our plans! He's one man – how many mages will be freed when our plans come to fruition? Stop thinking of yourself, Anders!_

Anders spun round and removed his arms from around himself, clenching his fists at his sides. "It doesn't matter _who_ ; the plight of mages in Kirkwall, and beyond, is something that _should_ concern everyone, but because it's _mages_ that are involved, people shake their heads and tut, but do nothing!"

Nathaniel warily nodded his head, bracing himself for another appearance from Justice; he clasped his hands tightly together in front of him to ensure he would not instinctively reach for his weapons.

"Yes, nod your head! That's all anyone ever does! Well soon, people are going to take notice whether they want to or not!"

Nathaniel gulped as a brilliant blue light radiated from within Anders, bathing the surrounding rocks in an eldritch glow. He stood his ground as Anders stepped closer, his bearing and posture menacing, his voice harsh and guttural.

"Yes… _everyone_ will take notice, and not you, nor anyone else, will be able to stop it, so go back to your dogs and your mud in Ferelden and keep your mind on Fereldan business!"

Suddenly, the blue light disappeared, and Anders closed his eyes, swaying a little, feeling disoriented. Nathaniel clasped his arms to keep him steady.

"I, erm…I think I just did the 'glowy thing' again, didn't I? That's what Hawke calls it," Anders explained with a hollow chuckle, his eyes wide as he eagerly awaited a word of comfort, of acceptance or forgiveness, from Nathaniel.

"Perhaps a tad, yes," Nathaniel answered evenly, feeling his stomach flip over.

"Erm…did I say anything…nasty?"

"You mean you don't know what you said?"

Anders shook his head, looking troubled. "No; I-I never remember anything. I told you that sometimes he appears, didn't I? Well, I have no control over that." He glanced up and placed his hands on Nathaniel's cheeks. "Please tell me he didn't say anything terrible to you."

"Nothing I'll lose any sleep over," lied Nathaniel. "Anyway, let's get ourselves some breakfast; your friends should have some tea brewed by now." He turned to walk away.

"Wait," Anders said, grabbing his arm. "Are you sure everything's all right? You didn't…regret…"

Nathaniel turned back and wrapped his arms around Anders' waist. "You want your head looking at if you think I regret that, Anders."

Anders took a deep, shaky breath and wrapped his arms around Nathaniel's shoulders, pulling him close. "We'll work something out, Nate, I swear we will. I-I can't let you go again, not now."

Nathaniel softly kissed Anders' neck and ran his hands up and down his back. "Come on."

Anders released him, but not before placing the gentlest of kisses against his lips. "I do love you, Nate."

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "I know you do, Anders, and I love you."

"Good!" Anders sang with false cheer. "Let's go and get ourselves some grub, then."

"After you," said Nathaniel, and followed him to the other end of the cavern where the others sat, hoping his unease didn't show on his face.

As Hawke had predicted, as soon as they'd returned to the surface, Anders was anxious to return to his patients; he asked Nathaniel's permission first, who agreed and promised to visit him in Darktown once his clinic was closed.

As Hawke and Fenris made their way to their residences in Hightown, Varric took Nathaniel to the Hanged Man, where he arranged lodgings for him. The two of them shared a pint as they waited for Nathaniel's room to be made ready.

"So, you and Blondie go way back then, huh?" asked Varric, taking a deep swig from his tankard.

Nathaniel nodded but didn't elaborate; although he found Varric to be a pleasant man, he had always been wary of people he didn't know.

Varric burped and excused himself, and then looked at Nathaniel curiously. "I wonder if _you_ were the one he meant?"

"I'm sorry, I don't follow," said Nathaniel.

"Well, one night we were in here getting a little rambunctious, and the conversation turned to women…or men, as the case may be. I asked Blondie if there'd ever been anyone special, you know? Well, he got this faraway look in his eyes and said that there _had_ been someone once; then he changed the subject pretty darned quickly."

Nathaniel looked down at his tankard.

"Hey, don't mind me; I'm a nosy son of a bitch," Varric chuckled. "So, are you really gonna take him back to Ferelden? It'd be kind of strange around here without him."

"I really don't know what to do," said Nathaniel, surprising himself with his frankness.

"Yeah, I can see the headache you'd have, having to take _two_ people back with you."

The doors to the pub opened, and a downtrodden-looking man and woman entered with a small child; they hovered nervously at the entrance, looking at Varric.

"Oh, pardon me, messere, there's something I have to take care of," he said, rising from the table.

"That's quite all right; I had arranged to meet Hawke anyway," Nathaniel answered, also rising. He held out his hand and the dwarf shook it with a firm grip. "Thank you for the ale, and for arranging a room for me."

Varric released his hand and bowed. "Don't mention it. Listen, my room is just down the hall from yours; stop by later and say hello, ok?"

"I will," he promised and watched as Varric walked over to the couple. He drank the last of his ale and left a few coins on the table, before departing quietly.

Nathaniel found the Hawke residence without much trouble, and, after being ushered in by Hawke's manservant, Bodahn, he waited in the lobby, taking in his surroundings.

"Ah, Nathaniel!" Hawke called from the balustrade at the top of the stairs.

Nathaniel turned around and watched as Hawke descended the stairs and approached him, offering his hand, which Nathaniel shook.

"You have a splendid home, Messere Hawke; you are to be congratulated."

Hawke snorted to himself. "Not bad for an apostate from Lothering, eh, Nathaniel?"

"Indeed," Nathaniel replied with a wan smile.

"Come on," said Hawke, leading him into a small study just off the main hall. As Nathaniel entered, Hawke closed the door and bade him to take a seat.

"You're concerned about Anders," Hawke said as the two of them sat down. "Well, to be quite frank, so am I."

"How do you mean?" asked Nathaniel.

Hawke sighed and ran his hand through his hair, sitting back in his chair. "When I first met Anders, I helped him in what I thought was going to be a rescue mission; he told me that one of his friends was being held captive by the templars." He leaned forward and pointed to a decanter of wine atop his desk; Nathaniel shook his head.

"Do you mind if I…?" Hawke asked.

"Not at all," said Nathaniel, and waited while Hawke poured himself a glass.

"It was a set-up, though," Hawke continued. "The templars were waiting for us and tried to capture Anders. That was the first time I saw Justice."

"There have been more occasions since then, I take it?" asked Nathaniel.

Hawke's shoulders stiffened and his nostrils flared momentarily. "Too many, especially lately. At first Anders, I mean Justice, only attacked templars, but recently…well, he's becoming less discriminating. He kills anyone who attacks Anders, and, by extension, any of us. It's becoming a real headache."

"A headache? What do you mean?" asked Nathaniel.

Hawke dropped his gaze to his glass. "The thing is, Nathaniel, Justice doesn't kill with a bow, as you do, or with a staff, as I do. He…"

"He destroys people," Nathaniel finished. Hawke glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. "I've seen evidence of Justice's handiwork," Nathaniel explained.

"Then you see our problem," said Hawke. "We can explain having to skewer a few thugs to the authorities; in fact they welcome it, but what we can't explain are those same thugs being reduced to a smear across the cobbles of Lowtown."

"What do you do, then?" Nathaniel asked.

Hawke sighed and shook his head. "We have to bribe people. I tell you, if we didn't have Varric around, we'd be fucked. He arranges for the…mess to be cleaned up, and pays off any witnesses. Anders is only free by the skin of his teeth; I'm sure the templars would love to throw me in the Gallows as well, but, being the Champion of Kirkwall has its perks, I suppose." He took another sip of wine.

"The templars leave him alone because he's my friend, and because I've helped the templars out a few times. If ever they found out about this, though, they'd make him tranquil before you could say 'abomination'."

"Is that what you believe him to be?" Nathaniel asked.

"That's what the _templars_ would call him," Hawke replied. "Anders, the man Anders, is not an abomination. He believes strongly in freedom for mages, and I happen to agree with him on most things. Over perhaps the last year or so, however, he's become more fanatical and sees all templars as potential murderers or abusers. I agree that things need to change, but not all templars are evil, and they _are_ essential, as far as I'm concerned; were it not for them, Kirkwall would be overrun with blood mages."

Hawke again offered Nathaniel a glass of wine, which he accepted. Hawke poured him a glass and refilled his own, staring at it for a moment; Nathaniel waited for him to speak.

"Something…happened a few weeks ago," he began cautiously.

"Oh?" asked Nathaniel.

Hawke glanced up and met Nathaniel's eyes; clearly, what he was about to say was grave.

"We discovered the plot of a templar named Ser Alrik; he proposed to Knight-Commander Meredith and the Divine that all mages in Kirkwall be made tranquil."

"What, just like that?" Nathaniel exclaimed.

Hawke nodded. "Thankfully, Meredith and the Divine rejected the plan. Alrik, however, was having none of it, and he began abducting mages and forcing the rite upon them. We eventually tracked him down and caught him red-handed threatening a mage named Ella." Hawke took a gulp of wine and shuddered. "The bastard more or less implied that once he'd made her tranquil, she'd be… _his_ to do with as he pleased."

Nathaniel shook his head in disgust. "I can't imagine Justice stayed quiet about that."

"No, he didn't," Hawke agreed. "He showed himself and destroyed Alrik and his cronies. However…" Hawke sat forward and rubbed his forehead with his hands. "We couldn't talk Justice down. He went for the girl."

"The mage?" Nathaniel asked, horrified.

Hawke stood and took his wine glass over to the window with him, his back to Nathaniel.

"We…the girl…she thought Anders was a demon, and said as such. She was bloody terrified. Justice…I don't know what the hell he was thinking, but he said something like, he would have his vengeance and none would stand in his way," Hawke said listlessly, and drained his glass in one gulp.

"Please don't tell me…"

"He killed the girl," Hawke answered flatly, and slowly turned around. Nathaniel sank back in his chair and stared ahead. "Anders, well…he's been a nervous wreck ever since. I don't think he'll ever forgive himself. Could you?"

Nathaniel continued to stare at the far wall and didn't answer.

"Anders has lost any semblance of control he ever had over Justice," said Hawke as he once again took his seat. "I've heard them arguing…well, I've heard Anders arguing with himself several times since then. I fear that Justice is beginning to overwhelm him, and that soon there will be nothing left of Anders."

Without being prompted, Hawke topped up Nathaniel's glass and pushed it over to him. Nathaniel nodded and gulped from it.

"There may be hope, though," Hawke said with a brighter note to his voice. "Anders recognises that things cannot continue like this, and has recently found the list of ingredients for a Tevinter potion that he claims will separate Justice from him."

"That sounds unlikely," said Nathaniel, taking another large pull from his glass.

"I share your scepticism," Hawke answered, "but if it does work…oh, it's almost too much to hope for."

"And doesn't Justice have anything to say on this?" asked Nathaniel. "I would have thought he'd be vehemently opposed to such a plan, and would try to stop Anders from proceeding."

"Perhaps that is what they've been arguing about lately," Hawke speculated.

"What are the ingredients for this potion?" Nathaniel queried.

"Well, Anders has most of them, but for the others he'll need our help. We need to go to the Bone Pit for drakestone deposits, and then, unfortunately, we'll have to go into the sewers beneath Darktown."

"The sewers? What for?"

"I can't remember what it's called; Anders would know," said Hawke. "He needs some crystals that form down there…from _urine_ ," he said with a grimace.

Nathaniel slowly sat upright in his chair. "Do you mean…sela petrae crystals?"

"Yes! That's the name," said Hawke. "I can't imagine for the life of me why he'd need them…and he's going to _swallow_ them! Ugh."

"Do you know what sela petrae is used for?" Nathaniel asked him.

"Can't say I do," he answered. "I leave that sort of thing to Anders. I didn't have the education he did at the Circle Tower, and therefore I can't decipher Tevinter. Do _you_ know what it's used for?"

"I've…heard of it," Nathaniel replied carefully, "but I'm not entirely certain of its use."

Hawke regarded Nathaniel for a moment, suspecting something else behind the Warden's words, but eventually nodded.

"Well," Nathaniel said, rising to his feet. "Thank you very much for your time, Messere Hawke. I should take my leave, now; there are one or two matters I need to attend to."

"You're quite welcome," said Hawke as he showed Nathaniel out of his study. "I would very much appreciate it if you would let me know when you come to a decision about Anders."

"Of course," said Nathaniel with a bow. "Once again, my thanks."

"Farewell, Nathaniel," Hawke replied as Bodhan showed his guest out.


	5. What Lies Beneath

After leaving Hawke's mansion, Nathaniel took a stroll through Hightown, remembering Anders' directions to his clinic. He had a decent walk ahead of him, which he was glad of, as he needed time to clear his head. Hawke's tale of the unfortunate Ella weighed heavily on his mind; clearly, Anders, who had always been a giving and deeply caring man, had lost complete control of himself, as the cold-blooded murder of an innocent mage was something that Anders, acting alone, would have given his own life to prevent. Nathaniel, recalling Hawke's mention of sela petrae, could only imagine what desperate steps Anders was planning to take in order to separate himself from Justice, knowing it to be a highly potent oxidising agent which he used when fashioning his flasks.

As he walked along, he was reminded of the reason he hadn't spent too long in Hightown as a young man; he passed several nobles on the way, most of whom could be heard complaining loudly about the price of silk or perfume, that servants these days weren't as respectful as they used to be, or some other vacuous nonsense. With a shudder, he thought of the shower of nobles _he'd_ have to deal with upon his return to Amaranthine.

Although Nathaniel no longer considered himself to be a noble, apparently he still carried himself as such; he passed through Hightown pretty much unnoticed, but, as he descended the hundreds of steps leading to Lowtown, he quickly noticed a change in the attitude of its residents; several approached him quite blatantly, asking for money, while others, appearing more wary, gave him a wide berth.

Still, he much preferred the character of Lowtown, with its bustle, its noise and its labyrinthine side streets and alleys, to the pristine, unspoiled, and ultimately false and soulless Hightown.

There was a sense of watchfulness here, though; an almost palpable tension that seemed to be just behind everything, on the periphery, lurking, ready to pounce. As he passed The Hanged Man and made his way down to the harbour, the source of that tension became apparent; a vast, forbidding fortress that sat in the centre of the harbour cast a huge shadow over one half of Lowtown. Several groups of templars marched past him as he neared it and disappeared through its gates, only for more to emerge seconds later to begin their patrols through the town. Nathaniel had never before seen such a high concentration of templars anywhere in Ferelden, or the Free Marches for that matter, and guessed that the prevalence of blood mages in Kirkwall he'd heard about, also hinted at by Hawke, was more serious than he'd realised.

Remembering Anders' instructions, he walked down some steps leading to a small jetty which ran alongside an anonymous-looking building with two side doors. He pushed open the door furthest from the jetty, and, expecting more steps, was surprised to see a grim-faced, unshaven man standing next to an old mining lift, which appeared to be operated by ropes and pulleys.

"Yeah?" the man asked gruffly.

"This is the way to Darktown, is it not?" Nathaniel asked.

The man eyed Nathaniel suspiciously and folded his arms. "Wha'chu wanna go ter Darktown for then, eh?"

"Is this the way, or not?"

"Well, yeah, it is, but…I don't think it's the sorta place for the likes o' you," he answered.

"And why would that be?" queried Nathaniel.

"Well, you got some mighty fine looking weapons there," said the man with a glance at Nathaniel's daggers and bow, "and they could fetch a pretty penny. You could find yerself a target if yer not careful."

"Fortunately for me, I know how to use them," Nathaniel answered, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Look," said the man in a whisper, sidling closer. "If you're after a girl, or a boy, you don't wanna go down there. All diseased, they are. I could fix you up with…"

"How _dare_ you," Nathaniel interrupted with a menacing glare.

"I'm sorry, it's just that's what most posh geezers come down 'ere for. I can't thinks o' no other reason someone like you would wanna go down there."

"Why I want to go down there is _my_ business," said Nathaniel, walking over to the lift. "Do I operate this myself, or do you?"

"I do," he replied, holding his hand out. "That'll be ten silvers."

One of Nathaniel's eyebrows shot up. "What, you mean you actually _charge_ people to go down? The refugees? Who gave you the authority to do that?"

"I gave meself the authority. A man gots to make a livin' don't he?" he replied with a shrug.

"I'm not paying a thing to someone who makes a living out of swindling the dispossessed," Nathaniel replied haughtily, his nostrils flaring in disgust. "I'll operate it myself."

The man tutted to himself and reached for his sword, but before he could blink, Nathaniel had him against the wall, a dagger biting into his throat. "Don't make me _laugh_ ," he rasped. "Now get out of my way."

"O' course! Beggin' your pardon, serah. I didn't mean nothin'," the man babbled, his sword falling to the floor as he held his hands up in surrender. "Look, I'll operate it for yer, all right? No charge."

"Wise decision," Nathaniel said coldly, releasing him. Sheathing his dagger, he stepped onto the lift, fixing him with a glassy stare. "And if you're thinking of giving me a bumpy ride, remember I'll see you _again_ on the way up."

"I-I'd never think no such thing, serah," he stammered, and gingerly untied the rope from around a small pillar, and slowly let it slip through his hands, carefully lowering Nathaniel down.

As he travelled downwards, and as the odious man was replaced by solid stone walls, Nathaniel's head fell back and he groaned. He hadn't realised what a foul mood his talk with Hawke had put him in until now. He was glad, in a way, that he'd had a chance to vent some of his anger and fear on an irksome stranger, instead of Anders himself, and yet his belly still tightened; just what _was_ he going to say to Anders? Should he be direct, or, considering Justice's presence and influence, should he take a more oblique approach?

He had little time to consider this as he began to feel the air grow heavy and stale, and could hear muffled voices, indicating he was not far from the bottom of the shaft. As the lift shuddered to a halt, he stepped out onto a busy thoroughfare; several people milled back and forth, and he was surprised to see a merchant's stall, selling poisons and flasks. He browsed the merchant's wares, and, although they were inferior to what he could craft himself, he bought a few items anyway, and had an interesting chat about poisons with the proprietor. He asked for directions to Anders' clinic, and the merchant pointed him the right way, additionally providing a few cautionary words about muggers and pickpockets.

Although the immediate area around the lift was relatively clean and well-lit, as Nathaniel ventured further into Darktown, it became clear to him that most people were living in cramped, squalid and unsanitary conditions. Young children played next to open drains from which raw sewage oozed out; filthy, hollow-cheeked women with dead eyes stood along various point of his route, flashing a bit of leg or shoulder in the hope of earning a few coppers using the only means they had left. The rancid smell of ordure, unwashed bodies and decay hung in the air, and Nathaniel, not wishing to offend anyone by covering his nose, breathed through his mouth, occasionally wiping his streaming eyes. It had long been a sobering thought that only an accident of birth had kept him out of a life of hardship; however, the extreme squalor these desperate people lived in was shocking.

As he neared the location of Anders' clinic, a small hand clasped at his arm, and he turned to see a petite woman, dressed in rags. She was clearly with child.

"Anything I can do for you, ser?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the ground. "We can just go behind this rock, here…I-I won't ask for much, just enough for some food."

"You're-you're Fereldan, aren't you?" he asked, detecting a slight accent.

"Yes ser," she answered, releasing his arm and venturing a glance up at him. "South Reach. You sound Fereldan, yourself, ser."

He nodded. "I'm from Amaranthine. How long have you been here for?"

"I don't know how long it's been," she said, shaking her head sadly. "I fled Ferelden after I lost my husband and daughter…they were…blighted."

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. "You've…remarried?" he asked, gesturing to her belly.

"Oh no, ser," she answered, once again looking at the ground. "One of the lads down here…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "…forced himself on me."

Nathaniel's breath rushed out and his hands fisted at his sides. "Where is he?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Oh, don't worry about that. Ande…one of the fellas down here took care of him. He knocked another girl up, too, but everyone was too scared to do anything; he was a big bloke. But this…man, he wasn't scared of him at all. He made him disappear."

"Good," Nathaniel muttered quietly, and reached into his backpack, producing several portions of dried meat and fruit, and some health poultices. "This is all I have to give. I wish it were more."

Taking his gift, she hung her head and bit her lip, nodding silently.

Once again, his privileged upbringing, status and wealth came to the forefront of his mind, reminding him of his fortunate position in life. Although he knew he couldn't help everyone in Darktown, and that aiding her would be a drop in the ocean, he found himself unable to walk away from her.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Clara."

"I'm Nathaniel," he said. "Clara, have you ever thought of returning to Ferelden? I could arrange it, if that's what you want."

"Oh, ser, that's…it's just I-I have nowhere to go, and I couldn't go back to South Reach, I just couldn't."

"Well, I could arrange a job for you; we're always in need of domestic staff where I live. Not that I'm suggesting that's all you're capable of doing, but it would be a start until you get back on your feet. Accommodation and meals would be included, and you'd be paid a fair rate."

"In…in Amaranthine?" she asked, and he nodded. "But why would you do that? I have nothing to give in return."

"I can't bear the thought of you giving birth…here," he said, looking around, and thinking of Delilah's young son. "I have a nephew; my sister is here with me, as well. She would agree with me."

"I-I don't know what to say," she said haltingly.

"I'm going to arrange temporary accommodation for you," he told her. "Just keep yourself safe for the rest of today. I will return later; you have my word."

"Thank you," she whispered, and, with a brief nod, he walked away.

xXx

"Oh, Albert, what have you done now?" Anders stood next to a seated elderly man with a patch over his eye, and examined his head.

"I done cracked me ' ead open, Anders," the old man replied.

"I can _see_ that," Anders said sternly, examining a deep gash on Albert's temple. "What I want to know is how?"

"I can't rightly remember, Anders. Sorry, son."

Anders sighed and placed a hand over the wound, warning Albert to expect some stinging. As he skilfully closed the gash, he became aware of one of his minders standing nearby.

"Everything all right, Dougal?" he asked his friend as he completed his spell.

Dougal looked back in the direction of the entrance of the clinic. "There's some posh bloke here to see you. Says he's a friend of yours. Nathaniel."

Anders' stomach fluttered for a second, and then, remembering that Nathaniel was not due until later that night, grew suspicious; the templars had posed as friends of his before, hence the need for minders.

"What does he look like?" he asked Dougal.

"Long, black hair, in the braided style; fair skin, very piercing eyes. Well-spoken."

Anders' shoulders relaxed a little but he was still wary. "Is he Fereldan?"

"Most definitely," replied Dougal, "a Fereldan noble, by the looks of him."

Anders exhaled and nodded. "It's all right, Dougal; you can let him in."

"Right," Dougal said gruffly, and headed for the entrance.

After a moment, Anders felt the unmistakable presence of a Warden resonating through his blood, and allowed himself to relax completely. His heart quickened as Nathaniel stepped into his clinic and he welcomed him with a broad smile; Nathaniel smiled back and, holding his hands up to indicate he wouldn't be any bother, quietly sat on the floor in a corner.

Anders helped Albert to his feet and placed his hands on the older man's shoulders. "Albert, you've _got_ to stop smoking that stuff. Seriously, you can't keep getting into fights or falling down steps because you're out of your head. You're going to end up killing yourself."

"Aye, I will, son," Albert slurred and reached up to Anders' face, softly patting his cheek.

"Are you even _listening_ to me?" Anders asked in exasperation.

"Always, son," replied Albert as he weaved his way to the exit.

Anders stared after him and shook his head, and then turned to Nathaniel. "I'll be with you soon, Nate. I only have a few more people to see for now."

"Please, don't rush," answered Nathaniel.

"Philomena," Anders called out, and a woman stepped forward, taking a seat in his chair.

"I've got crabs again," she told Anders without self-consciousness.

"Ah, I've been working on something new for that!" he said with enthusiasm, reaching into a satchel and producing a small pot of balm.

Nathaniel marvelled at how someone, particularly a woman, would publically admit to having… _crabs_ , but then felt a little ashamed. Of course he'd be surprised at that; although his childhood hadn't been a particularly happy one, he had been born into a wealthy, noble family, and had never had to face the problems these people did. Infestations and disease were probably everyday facts of life to these people, and something that was freely talked about.

As he waited, he glanced around Anders' clinic. Although shabby and run down, it was spotlessly clean. He noticed, as Anders' patients left the clinic, that no one paid him anything, and wondered how he made a living. He thought of how everything would be easier for Anders if only he'd agree to go back to Ferelden with him; he'd want for nothing, and was still considered a hero in Amaranthine after he and the rest of the Wardens had defeated The Mother all those years ago. It quickly became apparent to Nathaniel, however, that Anders was badly needed here, that he cared for these people very deeply, and that he knew them all very well. It was also clear that the people of Darktown had great respect and affection for him. Who would Nathaniel make happy by taking Anders away from this? Himself.

After sending Philomena on her way, Anders called to his last patient, another pregnant woman named Winifred. Nathaniel wondered if she was the other woman Clara had mentioned. Anders examined her tummy and, telling her everything was fine, sent her off with some dried herbs which he promised would keep her strength up. As she rose, she dug into her pocket and produced a few coins.

"Here; I managed to scrape a few coppers together for you, Anders," she offered, holding her hand out to him.

Visibly touched at her gesture, Anders closed his hands around hers. "No, sweetheart," he said softly. "You keep it; save it for the baby."

"But, Anders…"

"You need it more than I do," he answered. "Go on; off you go. See you this time next week."

She shook her head. "Well, I'm going to offer it again next week, and the week after that."

"And I'm going to say no again next week," he replied with a smile.

"Maker bless you, Anders," she said as she departed.

As Nathaniel pushed himself to his feet, Anders gestured for him to follow him through a passage, leading to a small but clean room with stone walls; it was unfurnished save a few trunks and a cot which lay alongside the far wall.

"So…couldn't wait to see me, eh?" Anders asked brightly, clasping Nathaniel's arms and planting a firm kiss on his lips.

"Something like that, yes," he answered, returning Anders' kiss with a second one.

"Come on," said Anders, gesturing to his cot. Nathaniel squatted and sat down upon it, stretching his legs out in front of him; Anders pulled up his coat a little and got onto his knees before swivelling around to mimic Nathaniel's position.

"So, what do you think of Darktown?" asked Anders, meshing his fingers together in his lap.

Nathaniel considered his answer for a moment before replying. "I had no idea things were so dire down here, Anders. I've seen some…well, I just want to say that what you're doing down here is amazing, Anders. Truly amazing."

Anders grinned bashfully and picked at his fingernails. "It's not just me, you know; there are three other healers here, all apostates. They were passing through at various times, and, seeing the conditions down here, they all decided to stay and help. Good of them, considering the risks."

"You mean the templars?" Nathaniel asked.

"Yes, I expect you saw a few of them on your way here."

"I saw several," replied Nathaniel. "Do you have to stay down here all the time? Do you never venture up?"

"I can walk about Lowtown quite freely when I'm with Hawke," he explained. "They know better than to bother me when I'm with him, but I'd be asking for trouble if I went up on my own."

"But you're a Grey Warden…the templars can't touch you," said Nathaniel.

Anders leaned against the wall and chuckled. "This isn't Ferelden, Nate. Things here are near breaking point; the more the templars come down on us, the harder we fight back. Something is going to give, very soon."

Nathaniel remembered Justice's words of the previous night, hinting at something that everyone would take notice of, whether they wanted to or not; seeing Anders so relaxed, however, Nathaniel didn't want to draw Justice out, and decided to change the subject.

"I had a chat with Hawke not long ago," he said.

"Oh yes?" Anders asked.

"Well, as I'm going to be around for a while, I thought about tagging along on your next little adventure," he said, keeping his tone light. "That way we can see more of each other; what do you think?"

Although a huge grin spread across Anders' face, Nathaniel didn't fail to notice a hint of wariness in his eyes. "Sounds like fun!" he chirped. "It'd be great to have you along."

"So, what exactly do you have planned? Hawke mentioned something about having to go down a sewer? Please tell me he was joking, Anders."

"No, he wasn't joking," answered Anders, tapping his index finger against his leg.

 _Careful! It sounds like he's been snooping, to me._

 _  
**I don't want to lie to him.**   
_

_And just what is he doing now, Anders? We both know Nathaniel well enough. He knows exactly what you're up to, and is testing you to see if you'll tell him. He always was a crafty one; you know that as well as I do._

"What do you need down there, then?" Nathaniel pressed.

 _He knows! Is this the love for you he speaks of? A love involving deception and game playing? Don't fall for it!_

Anders bent his knees and swivelled himself round to face Nathaniel. "I, erm, I wanted to gather some crystals, for use in a potion."

 _Good. That's it, Anders. Keep the story going. You know he's deceiving you, and therefore it is not unjust for you to act in a similar fashion._

"A potion, eh?" asked Nathaniel, seeming interested. "Anything special?"

"Actually, yes," Anders replied, this time drumming all of his fingers rapidly against his leg.

 _Keep your fingers still!_

Anders bunched his hand into a fist and sat up straight, clearing his throat. "I want to try to separate myself from Justice," he began, feeling awful for lying to him. "I came across an old Tevinter formula for a potion that can separate a spirit from a mage."

Nathaniel folded his arms and frowned. "I remember us discussing this with Justice at Vigil's Keep; he said the only way a spirit could be removed from a mage was by the mage's death. So, what's changed?"

 _Good, he believes you. Tell him what you told Hawke._

"Well, nothing's changed, but the Tevinters did experiments and made discoveries that we in modern times can only dream about," said Anders. "Most of it has been lost, but now and again something turns up. I was fortunate enough to come across that recipe."

"Do you think it could work?" asked Nathaniel.

"I really do," Anders said with feigned enthusiasm, although he was unable to meet Nathaniel's eyes. "Anyway," he said with a grin, taking one of Nathaniel's hands, "what have you been up to? What do you think of The Hanged Man?"

"Aw come on, don't change the subject, Anders," Nathaniel teased. "You and I used to talk for hours about poisons and potions and what not. Just indulge me, eh? For old time's sake."

 _Careful. Steer him away from the subject._

"Well, we have a huge problem down here with people smoking deathroot," Anders said, shaking his head.

" _Smoking_ deathroot? I've never heard of such a thing!" exclaimed Nathaniel.

"That old fella, Albert? The one who cut his head? He's the worst of the lot. It's really fucked him up. He can't even remember his own name, most days. Justice…Justice thinks I waste time on him when I could be treating others, says his problems are self-inflicted, but I can't just ignore him."

"How is he even alive?" Nathaniel asked, careful not to be drawn into a conversation about Justice. "It's a poison, and a potent one, at that!"

"Deathroot is abundant down here; it thrives in damp, poorly-lit areas. I try to harvest as much of it as I can, but staying on top of it is impossible; it grows like a weed. A lot of the people down here use it to escape, I suppose. I've been running the clinic for five and a half years, now, and it's killed close to fifty people since then." Anders' shoulders slumped and he rested his head against Nathaniel's shoulder.

Nathaniel clasped one of Anders' hands and kissed his cheek. "Are these people just forgotten about, Anders? Didn't the Viscount do anything to help them when he was alive?"

Anders sat up straight and stared ahead, his expression grim. "The Viscount was a doddering old fool, completely out of touch with what was really going on in Kirkwall," he said angrily. "Hawke petitioned him several times for money or better conditions, but the old bastard didn't want to know. Too scared of how the nobles would react to the 'scum' down here being given more freedom. Now there's no Viscount, and no sign of a successor."

"But they can't just be left here to rot! There are families down here, children!"

"I'm glad you feel the same as I do, Nate, but I've been banging my head against a brick wall for over five years, now. Believe me, you wouldn't have wanted to see how it was down here when I first arrived. Things are much better than they used to be; cholera and dysentery were endemic down here, but we've all but eradicated them now, thank the Maker."

"But how did you achieve this?" asked Nathaniel. "If you've received no help…"

"From the expedition into the deep roads," he answered. "The things we found, Nate…we made an absolute fortune. My money's all but gone, now, but Hawke invested his carefully and is a very rich man. He puts a lot of money into this place, and has promised me that no one will go hungry in Darktown while he's around. He's a good man, Nate."

"So you used all of your money to care for these people?"

"Well, I wasn't a partner in the expedition; I got a share of the spoils, but nothing close to what Hawke and Varric made. It's thanks to them that I've been able to keep things going here."

Nathaniel nodded and listened as Anders continued.

"They have relatively clean water, now, and we get regular deliveries of food and medical supplies; Hawke and I purchased some land on which we grow crops, and volunteers harvest it for us. But we're only treating the symptoms, not the cause; some people down here do eventually get themselves together and move on, but that's rare. Some of them have been down here for as long as I have, and many have died. And every day more of them arrive. It's endless, Nate."

"Anders!" called a voice from the front of the clinic.

"I'd better go," Anders said wearily, pushing himself up. "It's my shift, and I'm supposed to be available at all times."

"Well, when do you rest?" asked Nathaniel, taking Anders' proffered hand and getting to his feet.

"Jerrell will take over from me this evening. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like it if you came back this evening? Maybe I'll be in a better mood then, eh?"

Nathaniel stepped closer to Anders and pulled him into a hug; Anders closed his eyes and clung tightly to him. "This is why I love you, Anders," Nathaniel whispered.

Anders pulled away and patted Nathaniel's arms, plastering a broad grin upon his face. "Thanks for coming to see me, Nate. I'd better get back to it. Will you come back later?"

"I will," answered Nathaniel, and the two of them walked back to the clinic.

xXx

Nathaniel was in a dour mood when he arrived back at The Hanged Man; he knew now that there was no way Anders could return to Ferelden with him, and he also knew that he couldn't remain in Kirkwall indefinitely. After arranging for a small room for Clara, he made straight for his own room and locked the door behind him, wearily collapsing onto his bed and closing his eyes.

Just as he started to relax, a heavy rapping could be heard at his door. Growling to himself, he got up and stalked over to the door. "Who is it?" he snapped.

"Hey, Shadow, it's me," said Varric from the other side of the door. "You promised to stop by, remember?"

Nathaniel groaned and unlocked the door, allowing Varric to enter. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude," said Nathaniel as he closed the door. "I just wanted to close my eyes for a bit."

"Everything ok, Shadow?" asked Varric.

"Shadow?"

"Oh, it's just me," Varric laughed, plopping down onto a chair. "I'm terrible at remembering names, so I give everyone a nickname. Feel free to give me one, yourself."

Nathaniel smiled a little and sat back down on the bed. "Well, I've only just learned your name, and I think a nickname would confuse me, so I'll stick to Varric, if you don't mind."

"Whatever floats your boat, Shadow," Varric said in a sing-song voice. "So, you went to see Blondie, huh?"

"How do you know that?" Nathaniel asked.

"There ain't nothing that goes on around here without me knowing," he answered. "Not that I was spying on you or anything, it's just that I've known Blondie for a long time, and…"

Nathaniel nodded. "You're protective of him," he finished. "That's all right; I understand, and I'm grateful for it."

Varric nodded, appreciative of Nathaniel's good grace. "So, Darktown, huh? Quite an eye-opener, I bet."

Nathaniel nodded thoughtfully, and his eyes met Varric's. "I can't take him back now. As much as I hate the thought of him living down there, those people are his life. I just can't do it."

"Which kinda leaves you with a problem, doesn't it? Blondie has his duties here, and you have yours back in Ferelden. Sucks, doesn't it, Shadow?"

"It certainly does," Nathaniel agreed quietly. "I-I'm worried for him, Varric; I could leave, albeit with a heavy heart, if I knew he was safe, but, with Justice…"

"Yeah," Varric said sourly. "Justice. Hawke told me that Blondie thinks he might have a solution to that, though."

Nathaniel shook his head. "I'm concerned about that, as well; I think he might be attempting something dangerous. Do you make flasks, Varric?"

"I do," he answered, intrigued at the question. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Hawke told me that one of the ingredients for this potion is an oxidising agent I use in my own flasks," answered Nathaniel.

Varric leaned forward. "Oh? What might that be?"

"Sela Petrae," he replied.

Varric's eyes narrowed. "You mean nitrate of potash?"

"That's precisely what I mean," Nathaniel said gravely.

"What's he gonna do? _Blow_ Justice out of him?"

"He's going to set himself on fire as well, apparently; another of the ingredients is drakestone."

"Maker's balls!" Varric exclaimed, rising out of the chair. "Come on, Shadow; I need a drink."

"So do I," said Nathaniel, also rising. "I can't stay for too long, though; I need to return to Darktown later to see Anders."

"And to help out a lady," Varric added, waggling his eyebrows. "That was a very nice thing you did."

"Is there _anything_ you don't know?" Nathaniel asked grumpily.

"Nothing at all, Shadow; now, come on. We need a drink and we need to talk about this…potion."

The two men made their way to the bar and, after ordering a pint, sat at a table in a corner. "Here's to you, Shadow," Varric toasted, raising his tankard.

"And to you, Varric," answered Nathaniel, tapping his tankard against the dwarf's. They both took a deep gulp of ale and settled back in their chairs, sharing a contemplative silence.

Suddenly, the door to the pub was pushed open, and a young man ran in, frantically looking around. "Varric!" he called. "Is Varric here?"

"Andraste's tits!" Varric exclaimed from the corner. "What now? Can't you see I'm enjoying a quiet drink with a friend?"

The panic-stricken youth beckoned to Varric, and, with a groan, the dwarf rose. "Excuse me, Shadow," he said, and walked over to the boy, who whispered in his ear. After a moment, Varric nodded and the young lad ran out of the pub.

Varric walked back to Nathaniel and took a deep gulp of ale. "Drink up, Shadow; we're going to Darktown sooner than planned."

"What do you mean?" asked Nathaniel. "What's wrong?"

"There's been an… _incident_ at Blondie's clinic," he answered quietly. "An exercise in damage limitation is required."


	6. A Cold Front

Nathaniel's heart hammered in his chest as he and Varric made their way swiftly and silently through Darktown. The details provided by the youth at The Hanged Man had been sketchy, but what was certain was that Anders had turned on one of his patients; the exact circumstances and the condition of the patient were currently unknown.

Nathaniel cast his mind back to the time the murdered templars had been discovered in Amaranthine. He and Aedan had been called out to the site after a traveller's horse had stumbled, throwing its rider. As the traveller had regained his footing he'd noticed a freshly-dug mound, tinged red. Upon closer examination of the mound, he'd found maggots and a foul-smelling ooze, and had immediately informed Arl Cousland.

What they had found at the site would stay with Nathaniel forever. One huge, melded mass of blackened skin, bone and steel was eventually dug up; it had taken several men over a week to confirm that there were indeed six bodies within the mass, and only an intact Chantry signet ring had given any clue as to their identities. After consultation with the Knight-Commander of the Circle Tower, it was confirmed that six of his templars had not returned from a patrol, and eventually their remains had been cremated. Aedan, at a loss to explain what had occurred, had sent messengers far and wide across the arling to warn his vassals to be on their guard, and for months afterwards, rumours of witchcraft and demon worship were rife in Amaranthine. Although Aedan and Nathaniel were practical men, even they had locked their doors securely at night for several weeks following the incident.

The thought that Anders, even indirectly, had been responsible for such a detestable and revolting act both sickened and terrified Nathaniel, and, as he and Varric neared the clinic, he found his love for Anders at odds with his sense of values and honour. What if he found a similar scene upon entering the clinic? Could he truly love someone who hosted a being with such indecent disregard for human life? Could he still separate Anders from Justice in his mind?

Could he, should he, allow Anders to live if Justice had taken another innocent life?

A small crowd had gathered around the entrance to the clinic; clearly what had happened had attracted a great deal of attention. Recognising Varric, the residents of Darktown moved aside as he and Nathaniel approached.

"What's gone down, guys?" Varric asked a few people in the crowd.

"We dunno, we wasn't in the clinic at the time," answered one of the men. "We 'eard some shoutin', then this weird blue light comes out of the clinic, and then we all 'eard a yell."

Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment.

"We all runs to see what was goin' on, but they done shut the doors before we could see," the man continued. "It's been forty five minutes or so, and they won't let no one in."

"Who was doing the shouting?" asked Varric.

"It sounded like Anders, to me," said a woman stood next to Nathaniel; several others in the group mumbled their agreement.

"Come on, Shadow," Varric said grimly, and knocked on the doors to the clinic.

"I told you, we're _closed_ ," said an impatient voice from the other side of the door.

"It's Varric Tethras; let me in!"

Quiet mumbling could be heard from inside, and after a moment, the click of a lock was heard and the door slowly opened. The crowd of Darktown residents, eager to know what had gone on, surged forward; Varric grabbed Nathaniel's arm and quickly pulled him through before the door was locked and barred by Dougal.

Inside, hunched over an examination table, were two men, obviously mages; both had their eyes closed and were chanting something incomprehensible. An ephemeral sphere of pale blue energy surrounded them and the table, and a prone body could just be made out lying on the table; occasionally it twitched.

"One-eyed Albert?" Varric exclaimed, rushing over to the table. Dougal quickly grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Don't interrupt them; they've been fighting to save him ever since it happened."

"Since _what_ happened? What the hell is going on?" demanded Varric.

Dougal turned away from them and clasped the back of his neck. "Anders…" He shook his head and turned back to the two rogues. "Albert came in here for something, probably after some deathroot; he's always trying to scrounge some if he can't find it growing anywhere. Anders just…just started _yelling_ at him, calling him a parasite and that there were others far more worthy of being treated than him. Then…it happened again, Varric."

" _Again_? What happened again?" Nathaniel asked.

"This isn't the first time Blondie's had _words_ with a patient," Varric muttered. "It's always the ones who abuse deathroot. A couple of them have even straightened themselves out because of it. He scared the living crap out of them."

"He's never physically attacked anyone, though," said Dougal with an anxious glance toward the rear of the clinic. "He…that thing happened, when he turns blue, and I thought he'd shout a bit and that would be it, but poor Albert…sent him flying across the room, he did. Poor fucker. I actually heard some of his bones snap as he hit the wall."

"Where is he?" asked Varric. "Did he run off again?"

"No," Dougal whispered. "He's out back. I think he's finally cracked, Varric; he's been shouting, arguing with himself, like, and throwing things, by the sound of it. About ten minutes ago, he went quiet. I'm not ashamed to tell you I'm too scared to go out there."

"I'll go," Nathaniel said quietly.

"You sure, Shadow?" asked Varric.

Nathaniel nodded. "He wouldn't hurt me…well, I don't think he would, anyway."

"All right, Shadow; I'll handle things here, you go see if you can get any sense out of Blondie. Just holler if you need me."

Nathaniel nodded once and slowly walked over to the rear of the clinic, his legs becoming leaden as he neared the passageway leading out to Anders' private room, gradually feeling Anders' taint pulling at him. Seeing that the passageway was unlit, he paused, once again feeling as though the very ground he walked on was about to disappear from under him. Taking a deep breath, he cautiously ventured into the passage, feeling his way along the walls as no torches were lit.

Feeling the passageway open out, and also sensing Anders' taint strongly, he knew he'd arrived at the room, and stopped, listening. Gradually, the sound of erratic breathing could be heard from the far corner; Nathaniel, by now quite fearful, stayed where he was.

"Anders?" he whispered, and was met with silence.

A few minutes passed by and Nathaniel continued to listen to Anders' breathing; occasionally he would hold it for a while, and then it would be released in a shaky burst.

"I'm going to enter; is that all right?" Nathaniel asked, again to no answer. "I'm coming in," he announced, and very slowly began walking forward, Anders' taint pinpointing his location as he groped blindly in the dark. Eventually, Nathaniel's foot touched the side of the cot, and his hands touched bare wall, indicating that Anders was sitting below him.

"It's Nate," he said softly. "May I sit down?"

Once again receiving no answer from Anders, he felt his way down the wall and sat down. He could tell by the heat emanating from Anders that they were sitting right next to one another, but Nathaniel was very careful not to touch him.

"Are you all right?" asked Nathaniel, immediately cursing himself for asking such a ridiculous question.

The two of them sat in silence for several minutes. Nathaniel was at a complete loss as to what to say, and although he longed to touch Anders and offer comfort, at the same time he was fearful of doing so, and, he was forced to admit to himself, he wasn't sure whether Anders _deserved_ comfort; in truth Nathaniel was appalled at what he'd done.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Nathaniel started at Anders' meek and fearful words, and clutched at his chest, steadying his breathing.

"Not as far as I know," he answered. "Two of your mages are attending him, but…well, it didn't look good, to be honest."

"He's dead," said Anders, his voice hollow and flat. "I know he is. He came here because he trusted me and look what I've done…they all trust me, don't they? I'm maybe the only thing some of them trust in the whole world. They know I'm always here and I'll always help them, and now the only thing they ever had faith in has turned against them _._ "

 _He was a drain on your resources. He took advantage of you and prevented others from receiving care from you. He…_

 _  
**I told you to leave me alone!**   
_

"What happened, Anders?" asked Nathaniel.

 _Get rid of him._

 _  
**No! He cares about me, ME! You don't care about anything other than justice! You don't know what it's like to have someone care for you!**   
_

"Anders, please talk to me."

 _He is a distraction from our purpose, Anders; you must not allow him to sway you from our righteous task. He is but one man who already has his liberty; think of the countless others who do NOT. You must be strong, Anders; weakness now will be catastrophic to your magi brethren. Think of them!_

"Why won't you leave me be?" Anders whimpered. "Why won't you leave me alone? Please, just go!"

"You-you want me leave?" asked Nathaniel, stung at Anders' words.

"No!" Anders cried out, grabbing Nathaniel's arms. "Not you, Nate! Please, don't ever leave me!" He started to sob uncontrollably and leaned against Nathaniel, gripping his arms so tightly as to leave bruises. Nathaniel gently prised Anders' hands off him, and Anders slumped onto his lap. "Nate…I-I'm scared. I don't know what to do, anymore; please, help me."

In the darkness, Nathaniel stroked Anders' hair with one hand; his other hand rubbed hard against his own forehead.

xXx

"Pssst! Shadow!"

A large, rough hand shook Nathaniel out of his slumber and he squinted as his eyes opened; two torches had been lit in the room, and he could make out the blurred figures of two men standing over him. Anders lay in his lap, fast asleep.

"How is he, Nathaniel?" the second man asked. It was Hawke; the Champion crouched next to him and looked at Anders.

"I think he's close to breaking point," answered Nathaniel. "The thought of injuring one of his patients…how is Albert, by the way?"

Varric looked at Nathaniel and solemnly shook his head.

"We need to get Anders out of here," said Hawke. "Varric's done his best at dealing with the crowd, and most of them have gone, but if we take Anders through Darktown there could be trouble. One of them may seek revenge, or ask the wrong question, and the consequences of that don't bear thinking about."

"Well, how do we get him out, then?" Nathaniel asked.

"We go through the sewers," said Hawke. "There's a tunnel running beneath the clinic that leads directly to my estate; my…brother and I discovered it several years ago."

Nathaniel noticed that Hawke appeared uncomfortable when mentioning his brother, but didn't call attention to it. "Before we go, and while he's asleep, I want us to discuss this potion Anders was talking about," he said to Hawke. "Varric and I have discussed it, and the ingredients he still needs to gather are very dangerous, Hawke; he could kill himself with them, but…"

"But the only alternative is for Justice to keep slaughtering innocent people," Hawke finished, and Nathaniel nodded. "Let's just get Anders back to the house for now, and, when he's settled, we'll discuss it further, yes?"

"All right," answered Nathaniel, and he gently roused Anders, who, upon waking, didn't seem at all surprised to see Hawke and Varric. Although he managed to sit up, his hands lay limply in his lap and his head rested against his chest; he seemed completely boneless. Nathaniel and Hawke grabbed an arm each and hauled him to his feet.

"You go," said Varric to the three of them. "I still have a few things to take care of here. And I'll see young Clara back to The Hanged Man, Shadow."

"Thank you," Nathaniel said with a small bow.

"Varric," said Anders, touching the dwarf's arm, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Jerrell should be in charge, now; he's the most experienced healer. He'll take good care of them, I know he will…please, tell them…I-I'm sorry."

"Sure thing, Blondie," Varric said softly, and walked over to the far side of the room, pulling open a grille in the floor. "Get him out of here," he instructed Hawke and Nathaniel. "I'll see you back at the house."

Nathaniel took a torch from one of the wall sconces and ventured down first; Hawke assisted Anders down before joining them. Once Varric was certain they were all safely down, he replaced the grille, extinguished the other torch on the wall, and made his way back to the clinic.

xXx

As the three men made their way through the winding tunnels, several times Anders attempted to touch Nathaniel's arm or back, craving reassurance and comfort in his touch. On each occasion, however, Nathaniel pressed ahead, or, Anders imagined, flinched, at one point making the excuse that he didn't want Anders to burn himself on the torch. Hawke, sensing the tension between them, kept well ahead of them; Justice, for once, remained silent.

Eventually, they reached a door, and Hawke took out a large key and unlocked it. Through the door was a flight of stone steps leading to a short wall with a heavy grate above.

"That's the entrance to my cellar," said Hawke, locking the door after Anders and Nathaniel had stepped through. Nathaniel walked up the steps first, with the other two following, and placed the torch on the floor before scaling the wall and successfully removing the grate. He then pushed himself up through the opening into the cellar and crouched on the floor, holding his arm out to help Anders up. Hawke followed, after first passing the torch up to them.

Although Anders had always admired Nathaniel's cool head and efficient, business-like demeanour when in situations like this, on this occasion he did not welcome those qualities; whereas Nathaniel had clasped his hand when pulling him up, he'd immediately released it, and had not looked at him once. Anders began to feel mildly panicked, believing that the events at the clinic had irreparably damaged Nathaniel's feelings for him.

"I'm awfully sorry to ask this, but would you mind removing your boots before we leave the cellar?" Hawke asked the others sheepishly. Looking down at their filth-encrusted footwear, Anders and Nathaniel complied with his request, and Hawke also removed his boots, leaving them at the foot of the stairs leading up to the house. "I'll have them cleaned and returned to you for the morning," Hawke promised.

As the hour was very late, Hawke, not wishing to bother any of his staff, took the other two men to the kitchen, where he rustled up a snack for them all, and they repaired to the drawing room with a few bottles of wine.

Just before they entered, Anders grabbed Nathaniel's arm. "Nate, are you all right?"

"Yes, Anders, thank you. How are you feeling?" he asked politely.

Fear and panic gripped Anders at Nathaniel's cool answer, and he broke out into a sweat. "Nate, can we talk? Just the two of us, I mean?"

"I think we ought to wait for Varric," replied Nathaniel. "We _all_ need to talk. Besides, it would be rude of us to abandon our host, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Nate," Anders answered quietly.

Seeing the anxiety on Anders' face, Nathaniel sighed, feeling torn between hugging him and knocking him flat. "We'll talk later, all right?" he said with his best attempt at a reassuring smile.

Anders nodded silently and slumped into a chair, staring at the fire that Hawke had just got going.

"How about that tour of the house I promised you, Nathaniel?" Hawke offered.

"Yes, of course," he agreed, failing to recall any such promise.

"Anders, you should rest here for a while," said Hawke. "You've had a very traumatic day. We won't be long."

 _They're trying to exclude you. They'll plot against you. Don't let them!_

"No, it's all right, I-I'll come," said Anders, rising from the chair. "I wouldn't miss a tour for anything."

"Good," Hawke said casually, and he proceeded to show them around his mansion while they waited for Varric.

When the tour was complete, they returned to the drawing room and broke open the wine. After a short while, a loud knock was heard at the front door, and Hawke went to answer it, returning with Varric.

Anders sat up straight in his chair as the dwarf entered. "Is there any news on Albert?" he asked, clinging onto a shred of hope.

"You mean you haven't told him?" Varric asked, looking at Nathaniel and Hawke.

"It's all right," said Anders, looking down at his hands. "I-I guessed as much."

"Blondie," Varric said in a serious tone, taking a seat next to him. "We need to talk. You can't go on like this."

"I know," he replied, looking up at Nathaniel, who had not yet taken a seat.

"Tell us about this potion of yours, Anders," said Hawke, who stood next to the fire. "Varric and Nathaniel have expressed concerns that it may be dangerous to you. Is that true?"

 _What did I tell you? All three of them have been working behind your back! You can't trust any of them!_

"Dangerous? Why would you think that?" he asked.

"Because the ingredients you need to find are highly volatile when used in combination," said Nathaniel, pacing a little. "Exactly what will this potion do?"

"I've told you; it will remove Justice from me."

" _How_?" Nathaniel demanded with a fierce look in his eyes.

Anders paused, shocked at the change in Nathaniel's demeanour.

 _Do not quail now! These three men, who claim to be your friends, have lied to and conspired against you! They no longer matter. You MUST finish what we have begun!_

"It will create conditions in my body that spirits find unfavourable," Anders claimed.

"And what about the explosives, Blondie?" asked Varric. "Some of that stuff you're after could level half of Lowtown in sufficient quantities. Why would you need _them_?"

"I only need a tiny amount of each," Anders began. "In those quantities, they would not be harmful to me."

"Just a moment, Anders; I thought you said you needed several samples of both constituents," said Hawke.

"Well, I do, because I may have to make several attempts before I get the mixture right," Anders explained. "I just thought I'd save us several trips."

Hawke, seeming to accept his explanation, nodded. "That's fair enough, Anders. All right, if we're all in agreement, we'll head out tomorrow and get your samples?"

"Sure," Varric answered. "The sooner that thing's out of him, the better."

"Nathaniel? Will you be coming with us?" asked Hawke.

Nathaniel nodded silently, his eyes fixed on Anders, who couldn't return his gaze.

"Well then; I think I'll turn in," Hawke announced. "There are plenty of rooms on the upper floor, help yourselves. Just don't use the room on the far left; that was…that was my mother's room." He took a deep breath and headed for the door. "Goodnight, gentlemen."

"Night, Hawke," Varric answered.

"Goodnight," said Nathaniel.

"Well," Varric said, pushing himself up with a groan. "I'll hit the hay, too." He walked over to where Nathaniel stood. "Are you gonna stay with him? I don't think he oughta be left alone," he whispered.

"I am," Nathaniel assured him. "Goodnight, Varric."

"Night, fellas." Varric closed the door behind him.

Nathaniel poured himself some more wine and filled a glass for Anders, passing it over to him. Anders looked up at him with a small smile.

"Alone at last, eh, Nate?"

Nathaniel didn't answer and walked over to the fireplace; Anders stood up and hesitantly walked over to him, stopping a few feet away. "Nate…I know that what you saw tonight…I know how much it must have shocked you. I know I have to get Justice out of me; this is why I need to make the potion. Please, just tell me you're still on my side, Nate. Without you, I-I don't think I could go on."

Nathaniel's expression was hard as he stared at the fire. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling us everything, Anders?"

"W-What do you mean?"

"You never were a good liar, and you're an even poorer one, now," he answered. "You're telling us that Justice will quite happily accept being banished to the fade, or wherever it is he'll go, after you drink this potion?"

"Justice is weary," Anders replied smoothly, taking a step closer to Nathaniel. "Inhabiting a mortal body has taken a lot out of him. He wants this as much as I do."

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed, and, setting his wine glass down, he moved away from the fireplace, leaving Anders alone. "You must think I was born yesterday, Anders. Has Justice exhausted all avenues of wrongs being righted, then? He's content to simply leave Kirkwall, with the situation between the templars and mages as it is? Why don't you tell me what's _really_ going on, Anders?"

 _It doesn't MATTER if he believes you or not. HE doesn't matter. He's supposed to be your friend and yet he's gone behind your back, lied to you, and now has the gall to accuse you of the same! You don't NEED him, Anders. Tomorrow will be a very important day for us; keep your mind on that, and nothing else._

"Nothing else is going on, Nate," he said, placing his glass on a table and walking over to Nathaniel, resting his hands on Nathaniel's arms.

"Swear to me," Nathaniel demanded.

"Look; we have some time alone, Nate. Please…" he moved his hands up to touch Nathaniel's face. "Please, Nate; stay with me."

"You can't, can you?" Nathaniel retorted. "You can't look me in the eye and swear that nothing else is going on."

Anders clutched the sides of Nathaniel's head and looked straight into his eyes. "Nate, I swear that nothing else is going on." He lowered his lips to Nathaniel's and pressed his body against his, desperate for physical contact, reassurance, warmth. An icy chill ran through him when Nathaniel pulled away.

"I think we'd better get some sleep," he said, and walked toward the door. "Are you coming?"

"Erm…I think I might stay here, in front of the fire," said Anders.

Nathaniel groaned and walked over to a chair, sitting down upon it. "We'll stay here, then," he said, and closed his eyes, folding his hands in his lap.

Anders sat on a small settee next to the fire. "Don't you want to sit next to me, Nate?"

Nathaniel opened his eyes and stood up, making his way over to the settee and sitting next to Anders, who took one of his hands. Nathaniel immediately closed his eyes, indicating that no further conversation would be taking place.

"Goodnight, Nate; sleep well."

"Goodnight."

Anders watched Nathaniel for a few moments, hoping against hope that he would open his eyes and tell him that he forgave him, that he still loved him in spite of what Justice had done. As Nathaniel's breathing deepened, he looked down at their hands, and was grateful that Nathaniel had at least allowed him that small contact. Realising that no more would be forthcoming that night, he wearily sat back and continued to watch his beloved until his own eyes closed, feeling confused, hurt and utterly alone.

 _And now your so-called friend has rejected you. A life such as ours must be a lonely one, Anders; not until our task is done will anyone understand. Now, you have one less distraction._

 _  
**I don't care about our task anymore. If I don't have him, I don't care about anything. I'm going to tell him the truth. I won't do it!**   
_

_He has turned his back on you because he perceives your hesitancy, your weakness. You always did look up to him, didn't you? You were always trying to impress him, make him proud._

 _  
**He wouldn't be proud of this.**   
_

_I disagree, Anders; he sees you as a weak man. Show him how strong you are. When this is done, everyone will know your name. You will go down in history as a visionary, a revolutionary, as the one who unshackled the oppressed and brought justice down upon their jailors. He will UNDERSTAND, Anders. He will understand your struggles, your passion, and your sacrifices. He WILL be proud of you._

 _  
**I don't know. I'm not sure he would understand.**   
_

_Then perhaps this is the time to test his friendship. If he does NOT understand your struggle, then can he truly call himself a friend?_

 _  
**I'm not…I'm not sure. He's always been a good friend to me.**   
_

_Then he WILL understand, Anders! You do want to make him proud of you, don't you?_

 _  
**Of course I do, it's just that…**   
_

_And when our task is done, he will look upon you with pride, and will welcome you back into his arms. That is what you want, isn't it?_

Anders opened his eyes and glanced over at Nathaniel, his love burning brightly within him.

 _  
**Of course that's what I want. I love him.**   
_

_Then make him proud of you, Anders._

"I will," he whispered softly. "I'll make you proud of me, Nate."


	7. Subterfuge

Anders was alone when he awoke the following morning. He immediately looked at the empty seat to his left, and then down at his fingers, which were still loosely curled around a hand that was no longer there.

The fire in the hearth was dying and he shivered, rubbing his upper arms, but otherwise he made no effort to move. Anders didn't know his way around Hawke's mansion; during the tour of the previous evening, all of his attention had been directed at Nathaniel, and he hadn't heard a thing Hawke had said. Double doors were situated at each end of the drawing room, and Anders did his best to remember which led where.

Did it matter, though? Wherever he ventured, he'd have to face Nathaniel eventually, and would have to see that look in his eyes again; the look that told him Nathaniel neither trusted nor believed him.

 _It matters not. Today we set the wheels in motion. That must be your only focus; all else is irrelevant._

 _  
**I know! You don't have to keep telling me! Just give me a moment's peace, please!**   
_

Justice fell silent.

Anders bent double in his seat and wrapped his arms around his knees. His stomach was unsettled and he felt anxious; today was so important to him and although Justice had convinced him of Nathaniel's support, still something gnawed away at him, deep inside: why couldn't he bring himself to tell Nathaniel the truth, if he knew he'd be proud of what he had planned?

Nathaniel had been so cold toward him the night before, so distant. Anders knew Nathaniel better than almost anyone, and knew that he was anything but a cold man. Those meeting Nathaniel for the first time could be forgiven for thinking otherwise, as nobody was better at hiding their feelings and presenting a stoic, unruffled front than him, and yet Anders knew what lay beneath those cool, serene waters: an undulating undercurrent, which, once glimpsed, quickly disappeared, leaving the observer to wonder if they'd seen it at all.

Nathaniel had shown that vulnerable side to very few people; Anders and Aedan had been the only men that Nathaniel had trusted enough to let his barriers down a little with. Both men had seen him cry, something that Nathaniel had never even allowed his own father to see, even as a youngster, and Anders knew by now that if Nathaniel acted coldly towards others, it was not with the intention of hurting them, but rather it was a mechanism against _being_ hurt.

 _  
**I've hurt him. I have to make things right between us, before…**   
_

Justice remained silent, satisfied that Anders was fully committed to their plan.

With a heavy groan, Anders rose from the settee and adjusted his coat, smoothing it down around his hips. Electing to take the doors to the left, he found himself in a lobby area with several other doors leading off. He could hear quiet voices in the distance, one of which was definitely Hawke's, and walked in their general direction, almost jumping out of his skin as a finger prodded at his arm.

He spun round and found an elderly dwarf with a plaited beard beaming up at him.

"Ah, good morning to you, serah! I trust you slept well?"

"Erm, yes, thank you…I, erm…"

"Please, follow me, serah; I shall take you to the master," said the dwarf, quickly walking ahead. Anders followed him in a daze.

The dwarf led Anders to an ornate oak-panelled door down a corridor he couldn't remember. Knocking at the door, the dwarf was invited to enter by Hawke, and he opened the door for Anders before bowing and departing.

Upon entering, Anders now vaguely recalled the room; this was Hawke's study. Hawke sat on a chair with his feet up on the desk, Varric leaned against the other side of the desk, polishing Bianca, and Nathaniel lounged against a wall with his arms folded and his legs crossed at the ankle; he straightened up as soon as Anders entered and glanced at him briefly before directing his gaze at the floor.

 _Why are they all in here? What are they up to?_

 _  
**I was asleep; maybe they didn't want to disturb me.**   
_

_Do you really believe that, Anders?_

"Morning, all," Anders said quietly.

"Come in, Anders!" invited Hawke, gesturing to a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"Hey, Blondie," Varric greeted him. Nathaniel glanced up and nodded once, his face betraying no emotion.

"Did everyone sleep well?" asked Anders, directly addressing his question to Nathaniel.

 _  
**Say something!**   
_

Varric and Hawke mumbled something in reply.

"I would have, if you hadn't fidgeted all night," said Nathaniel dryly, and Anders felt joy well up inside him, unable to keep a grin off his face.

 _  
**He's talking to me! Or…is that just for the benefit of the other two?**   
_

"We've been discussing which site we should visit first," Hawke began. "Nathaniel has some thoughts on that."

Nathaniel stepped away from the wall and sat on the window sill as Anders took a seat. "I think we ought to visit the Bone Pit first; it's further away and it'll be good to get that journey out of the way. We can bring the drakestone back here; it's fairly safe to transport, and can be left here without any worries. The sela petrae deposits are more unstable, however, and will need greater care. We do _not_ want to transport both sets of samples together; that would be asking for trouble, and I wouldn't be happy leaving sela petrae here, unattended."

Anders nodded. "That makes sense."

Nathaniel produced a belt holding several glass phials. "We can collect the sela petrae in these phials. I'll hold onto them until we return here."

Hawke removed his feet from the desk and sat up. "Anders, I know you left most of your equipment at the clinic. If you need anything, let me know; I want you to know you have my full support in this endeavour, and feel free to set up a workshop in one of the rooms here."

"I…thank you," said Anders, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you; I really mean that…you-you've been so good to me, Hawke…"

Hawke laughed. "I'm not asking you to marry me or anything, Anders, so enough of the soppiness. So long as you don't blow the house up or anything, I don't care!"

Anders grasped the back of his neck, laughing nervously, and noticed Nathaniel fidgeting from the corner of his eye.

A knock came at the door. "Come in, Bodhan!" called Hawke.

His manservant entered and bowed low. "Forgive the intrusion, Master Hawke, but Ser Carver is here to see you."

As one, Hawke and Anders shot up out of their chairs. "Where is he?" demanded Hawke.

"In the vestibule, serah; he's waiting there with his friend."

"Has he mentioned Anders at all? Does he know he's here?"

"He did ask, serah, but I don't know nothing," said Bodahn with a shrug, shaking his head. "This is your affair, not mine."

Hawke walked over to Bodahn and shook the dwarf's hand. "Good man! Please tell him I'll be out shortly."

"As you wish, Master Hawke," replied Bodahn, and, with a bow, closed the door.

"I'm sorry, what's going on here?" asked Nathaniel, noticing Hawke and Anders' agitation.

"My _brother_ is here," said Hawke distastefully.

"He's a templar!" Anders whispered harshly to Nathaniel, before turning to Hawke. "You've got to get him out of here, before…"

"You two stay here," Hawke instructed, heading for the door. "I can handle Carver. Come on, Varric; time to put our bullshitting hats on."

"I never take mine off," said Varric with a grin, patting his head. "Sit tight, Blondie; we'll take care of it."

The two men left the study, locking the door behind them.

xXx

"Brother!" Hawke exclaimed with his arms open wide as he and Varric approached the two templars who waited in the vestibule. "What an unexpected pleasure! How's life treating you at The Gallows?"

"Enough small talk," snapped Carver. "Where's Anders?"

Hawke frowned and shrugged his shoulders. "At his clinic, I suppose. Why are you asking me?"

"You know very well he's not at his clinic," accused Carver.

"Do I?" asked Hawke with a snort as he glanced at Varric.

"So, playing the innocent, I see," Carver said with barely-disguised disgust. "I suppose your friend here hasn't seen him, either?" he asked with a pointed look at Varric.

"Do you have a point to make, Carver?" asked Hawke irritably.

"Are you going to deny you were in Darktown last night, Varric?" Carver asked.

" _That's_ hardly news," scoffed Varric. "I go to Darktown a lot. Like your brother asked, what's your point?"

"I'm not going to waste my breath repeating what you already know," barked Carver, stepping up to Hawke. "I could have twenty men sent down here right now to tear this place apart."

"Why?" asked Hawke, feigning hurt. "Don't they like the decor, or something? I admit, it's a little grand, but isn't that a bit drastic?"

"Enough of this!" Carver ordered, holding his hands up. "You're determined to make a fool of me, aren't you?"

"I think you're doing a pretty good job of that, yourself," Hawke retorted. "Now say your piece, or piss off."

"I _know_ he's here," Carver said, his eyes narrowing. "You're harbouring a murderer. I'm giving you one chance to turn him in. You have until sundown today. Meredith has reached the end of her patience with your abomination friend."

"Assuming I even knew where he was, what's going to happen at sundown?" asked Hawke casually.

"If Anders is not delivered to The Gallows by sundown, then I'll be returning with those men as promised. Some of them are already outside, keeping watch. _They_ won't care about your decor. I hope you won't make this necessary, brother." Without another word, Carver and his associate turned and headed for the door.

"It was good to see you, Carver," Hawke said without malice or sarcasm; Carver stopped in his tracks for a moment before continuing towards the door, letting himself out.

Hawke exhaled heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What in the name of the Maker's bollocks do we do now?"

"We've been in worse scrapes than this before, Hawke," said Varric, stroking his chin. "I have an idea."

xXx

As the door closed and the click of the lock was heard, Anders and Nathaniel suddenly found Hawke's rug fascinating; the two of them stared at it for a little while, before Anders broke the silence.

"Are you all right, Nate?" he asked warily.

Nathaniel looked up from his seat on the window sill, and shrugged. "Anders, look, I'm sorry about last night. I was…" He stood up and ran his hand through his hair. "You were right; I was shocked at what happened. Actually, shocked is insufficient. Sickened, more like."

Anders hung his head. "I know, Nate."

"But that was no excuse for me being so hostile toward you. You needed me last night, and I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry, Anders." Nathaniel looked down as he toyed with his fingers.

Anders placed his hands on Nathaniel's shoulders. "Of course it's an excuse! I don't blame you one bit for the way you reacted."

"But it wasn't you, Anders; I should have realised that. I know that you would never have…hurt anyone like that," Nathaniel answered quietly. "It was just-it was just hard to see. You're so different, now, and I can see that you're suffering."

"Nate, you don't have to worry about me!" Anders reassured him, slipping his hands around Nathaniel's waist.

"But I do," replied Nathaniel, slowly running his hands down Anders' chest. "I do love you, Anders, but I hate what you're becoming."

Anders nodded slowly. "I-I understand, Nate. This must be so hard for you."

"And I still don't think you're being honest with me," Nathaniel added. "You're hiding something, and, in a way, that hurts more than anything. You used to tell me everything."

Anders blinked rapidly, feeling tears prick at his eyes.

 _You must stand firm, Anders. We are so close to our goal._

"Nate, I know I'm acting strangely, but I'm asking you to trust me."

Nathaniel shook his head. "But there's the problem, Anders; I'm not sure I do, anymore."

"Then if you can't trust me, at least tell me you're still on my side," Anders beseeched, pulling Nathaniel closer. "You're the only man I've ever truly loved, Nate. I need to know you're with me."

Nathaniel groaned softly and rested his forehead against Anders'. "I _am_ on your side, Anders, and I'm going to do everything I can to help you." Anders breathed a sigh of relief and moved his lips closer. "But don't betray me, Anders," he warned in a deceptively soft voice. "Not again."

The two of them quickly pulled apart as a key was heard rattling in the lock. The door was pushed open by Hawke, who quickly strode over to his desk, taking up a quill and a sheet of paper.

"Change of plans," he said abruptly, removing a key from his pocket and tossing it to Anders. "Go up to my room and change into one of my robes; one with a hood or cowl."

"What's going on, Hawke?" asked Anders as the Champion began to draw a simple map.

"The templars know what happened last night, and are standing guard outside. Hurry! Go and change and get back down here, quick!"

Anders hesitated for a second, then nodded quickly and ran out of the room.

"Don't go near any of the windows!" Hawke called after him.

"How many?" asked Nathaniel as Varric walked over to the window and looked out.

"I don't know," answered Hawke, passing Nathaniel the piece of paper he'd drawn on. "These are directions to the quarry, just outside of Kirkwall. Are you familiar with the area?"

Nathaniel studied the paper carefully. "I am. That's on the way to the Bone Pit, isn't it?"

Hawke nodded. "Varric and I will distract the templars; you get Anders out of here and take him here," he said, running his finger along the map. "There are several caves along this stretch you can hide out in until we come to you. There may be a few groups of bandits or thieves hiding out there as well, but I doubt they'll bother you with Anders in tow; he's pretty well-known. Just keep an eye out for the patrols. Can you do that, Nathaniel?"

"Yes," he answered. "What are you going to do to distract the templars?"

"I'll change into Anders' clothes, and Varric and I will leave the house."

"But that won't give us much time to escape," Nathaniel protested.

Hawke shook his head and laughed. "The templars won't cause a scene in Hightown; the nobles would never stand for it. They'll follow us to Lowtown, and we'll take our time getting there. Once there, we'll do our best to lose them, but, if they do catch us, by the time they've realised their mistake, you'll be long gone."

Nathaniel nodded approvingly.

"Right, I'm going to change into Anders' clothes," said Hawke, heading for the door. "Varric and I will go to Darktown to collect the sela petrae samples, and will meet up with you later; Anders can't accompany us to Darktown now, anyway."

Nathaniel passed his belt to Varric, knowing that the dwarf was familiar with handling the crystals.

"When we meet up, we'll all go to the Bone Pit together," said Varric as Hawke left the room. "We'll have to stash the crystals somewhere safe, though."

"Varric," Nathaniel said quietly, closing the study door. "May I ask you a question?"

"So long as it's not the one about where children come from, sure," replied Varric with a grin.

Nathaniel's lips twisted into a half-smile. "Varric…do you believe Anders is telling us the truth?"

Varric sighed and grimaced, rubbing the side of his face. "Now that _is_ a question, Shadow. Do you?"

Nathaniel looked away and turned toward the window, folding his arms.

Varric watched him for a moment, and then opened the door. "Come on, Shadow; let's see what the magic twins are up to."

"You didn't answer my question, Varric," said Nathaniel, turning back to face him.

"No, I didn't," Varric replied, "and you didn't answer mine."

xXx

Nathaniel couldn't help but smile as Anders and Hawke stood side by side in Hawke's bedroom, comparing their new outfits.

"No one would _ever_ know the difference!" Hawke exclaimed.

Anders looked him up and down and snorted softly. "No; besides the fact that you have black hair and a beard, and are a good six inches shorter than me, we could be mistaken for twins!"

"Think positive!" urged Hawke, pulling the hood up around Anders' face, his expression becoming pensive. "I think I'd better wear a hood, myself."

"We'd better swap staves, as well," suggested Anders.

"Good idea," Hawke agreed, and the two mages exchanged weapons.

Varric entered the bedroom, having completed a sweep of the grounds. "I can't see any templars, Hawke."

"Of course you can't; the sneaky bastards are hiding."

"We'll have to make this look good, Hawke," said Varric. "We can't just stroll out of the front door. We need to look at least a little bit furtive."

"Agreed," Hawke replied with a nod. "Tell you what; we'll leave via the tradesman's entrance and stick to the side passages. That way, it will appear that we're trying to keep a low profile." He turned to Anders. "You and Nathaniel will have to cut across a couple of the estates, but you should be fairly safe; most of the nobles will be out and about at this time of day. You may be spotted by the odd servant or groundskeeper, though, but if you slip them a few coins they should keep quiet."

"If by a stroke of bad luck you _are_ spotted by the templars, then run," advised Varric. "Their armour is damned heavy, and you should lose them in no time. Hopefully it won't come to that, though; you'll be heading _away_ from Lowtown, where most of them are. But you never know, so keep your eyes peeled."

"Hawke, Varric," said Anders. "I can't thank you enough for this. You've both been true friends." He looked at the floor and sighed.

"Don't thank us yet," replied Hawke. "When we've given these bastards the slip, _and_ when we're safely at the quarry, _then_ you can thank us. Come on; I'll show the two of you the best place to slip out. It's a bloody shame you can't use the sewers, but Carver is aware of the tunnels and probably has some of his goons waiting down there."

The three men followed Hawke to the gardens at the rear of the house. "You'll have to scale the wall," he told Nathaniel and Anders. "Once over it, make your way north-west until you're out of the city; it should take you no longer than an hour, with all being well. From there, follow my directions to the quarry; that should take another couple of hours. Keep your heads down and keep an eye out for the patrols. With any luck, Varric and I will be with you by late afternoon; look out for us."

"Give us fifteen minutes, and then get going," Varric instructed Nathaniel and Anders. "Just don't take it for granted that _all_ of the templars will follow us." He stepped closer to Anders and looked up at him. "And for pity's sake, Justice, _don't_ draw unnecessary attention!"

Anders nodded once.

"Good luck," said Hawke, and the four men shook hands before he and Varric headed to the tradesman's entrance at the side of the house.

"Do you really think I'll fool them into thinking I'm Anders?" Hawke asked Varric as he fastened his hood.

"You _could_ stand on tiptoes to make yourself look taller," Varric suggested wryly.

Hawke rolled his eyes. "Yes, and I _could_ go arse over tit in doing so. That wouldn't draw any attention at _all_ , would it?"

"Only one way to find out," said Varric, taking a deep breath as he opened the door.


	8. Conspicuous By His Silence

>

Varric and Hawke stepped out into the side alley that led off the tradesman's entrance to the estate. Here, at least, they felt relatively safe; several crates and boxes were stacked against the walls, affording a quick hiding place if they were spotted by the templars. The end of the alleyway led out to the town square, where many of Hightown's nobles exchanged pleasantries each morning, and Varric and Hawke could hear some of them talking from where they stood.

They moved to the end of the alley and looked up; the sky was overcast and the threat of rain hung in the damp air.

"Hm, this could either help us, or it could go against us," Varric remarked as Hawke tightened his hood, taking care to conceal his beard. "We won't stand out as much if it's a dull day, but then again, there will be fewer people around to blend in with."

"Well, there's no point in debating it," said Hawke, feeling a flutter in his belly. "Let's just get this over with."

"All right," said Varric, stepping out onto the square. "Let's stick to the walls and the shade of trees. No strolling out into the middle of the square."

"Why do I feel so bloody nervous?" asked Hawke as he walked behind his friend, the two of them keeping their heads down as they slunk along the wall of one of the estates, then cut through some small trees at the far end of the square. A few of the nobles cast curious glances their way, but otherwise they crossed the square without incident.

"That was easy, wasn't it?" Hawke asked Varric in a dubious whisper.

"Yeah, it was," replied Varric as they paused at a merchant's stall to buy some time for Nathaniel and Anders. "Is it possible Carver was bluffing? That there _aren't_ any templars hanging around?"

Hawke shook his head, resisting the temptation to glance around. "They're here, all right. My brother's many things, but a liar isn't one of them. I'm just wondering where _he_ is. He'll see through this disguise in an instant."

"Well, maybe he's gone to deploy his men," suggested Varric.

"No, that would suggest he was in charge, and I don't think Carver's been a templar for long enough to command any men," Hawke mused. "I think he actually came to warn us, in his own way."

"Really?" asked Varric in between haggling with the merchant over a pair of leather gloves. "Sounded like he was throwing his weight around, to me."

"Oh, he was," agreed Hawke. "He's a cantankerous shit and I daresay he relished having a bit of power over me, but he didn't _have_ to tell us he'd be back at sundown, did he? He could have brought some men and stormed the house without warning us, but he didn't."

"He always was a strange one, your brother; always pulled in two different directions," said Varric, shaking his head, as he completed his purchase. "Well, let's hope you're right."

They moved off to another stall and casually sifted through the wares on display. After a few minutes had passed, both men paused and exchanged a glance.

"Did you hear that?" Hawke whispered.

"Uh-huh," replied Varric quietly, referring to a rustling coming from a nearby shrub. "Poor sod; they plant rashvine under the bushes here to prevent kids from playing in them. Do templars _wear_ anything beneath their skirts?"

"I couldn't tell you. Let's hope not," Hawke chuckled to himself.

Varric looked up at the sky and held his hand out, feeling the first few spots of rain. "Shall we move along, give the poor kid a chance to take shelter?"

"No, I rather like this stall," said Hawke with a mischievous glint in his eye as the rustling sound intensified, taking on an urgent quality. "Let's stay a while longer."

~o~O~o~

Nathaniel and Anders waited for fifteen minutes as instructed, and then crossed the courtyard to the far wall; Nathaniel scaled it with ease, holding his arm out for Anders to grasp. He laughed as Anders hitched up his robe and glanced at him doubtfully. "Don't tell me the great escape artist Anders can't climb walls!"

"I _can_ , I'm just not wearing the right type of robe!" Anders claimed, "And these boots of Hawke's have got no grip on them whatsoever," he moaned as he tentatively placed his foot in a small indentation in the wall. "How did you _do_ that?" he asked, not seeing any places for his other foot to go.

"You need some momentum," said Nathaniel. "Step back a bit, then take a run up and grab my arm."

"All right," Anders replied and walked to the centre of the courtyard, again hitching up his robe so he wouldn't trip on it.

"Wait," said Nathaniel, holding his hand up as laughter shook his body. "Don't run yet."

"What? What's the matter?"

"You look like a woman about to curtsey to me," Nathaniel chuckled, "but you don't quite have the legs for it."

"This is serious, Nate!" he protested, the robe billowing back to the ground as he put his hands on his hips. "Half of the templars in Kirkwall are after me!"

"I'm sorry, I can't help it!" said Nathaniel. "Your legs are so hairy…come on, Anders; you used to laugh at stuff like this."

Anders once again hitched up Hawke's beautiful black and silver robe, and realised how ridiculous he looked. Beneath the robe was a pair of very hairy legs with knobbly knees, clad in ill-matching tan leather boots which had seen better days; his big toe threatened to break through a small hole in the left one. He looked up at Nathaniel and, upon catching his eye, the two of them started sniggering.

"You could have dressed up a bit for your meeting with royalty!" Nathaniel commented, and Anders clutched at his knees, doubled over with laughter. It had been such a long time since he'd truly laughed, and, now that he'd started, he thought he'd never stop.

His face crumpled and he felt tears forming in his eyes. "Stop it, Nate! We're supposed to be running for our lives!"

" _You're_ running for your life," answered Nathaniel from the top of the wall. "I could quite happily lie up here all day."

Anders picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it at Nathaniel, hitting his hip. "And _I_ could quite happily do _this_ all day!"

Nathaniel, still chuckling, slid down the wall to the ground and walked over to Anders, taking his hand and leading him back to the wall.

"This is no good," he said. "I'll have to give you a boost up, or we'll be here all bloody day!" He meshed his fingers together and bent over a little.

"Wait a minute," Anders said softly, and Nathaniel straightened up. "It-well, it's good to see you laughing, Nate."

"You too, Anders."

The two of them stood still for a moment, soft brown eyes meeting sparkling grey ones, and almost without conscious thought, they came together effortlessly, just as they always had; their heads tilted to the right, Nathaniel's arms around Anders' waist, and Anders' wrapped around Nate's neck. It was how they'd always kissed; it was familiar, and safe, and comforting, and, for a brief moment, everything else was forgotten.

Their lips parted, and, still in each other's arms, thoughts of escape intruded on them.

"I suppose we'd better get going," whispered Nathaniel as Anders placed a soft kiss on his forehead, pulling back a little, and Nathaniel gazed at him for a moment. A little sun had broken through the clouds, and it seemed to shine directly on Anders, highlighting the flecks of gold in his hair and eyes, and warming his pale skin.

Nathaniel reached up to Anders' face and softly caressed his cheek. "By the Maker, Anders, you're bloody handsome."

Anders bit his lip coquettishly and responded in kind by stroking Nathaniel's face, who stood with the sun behind him; shadows filled every contour of his chiselled face, and his startling grey eyes looked darker, and a little softer.

"And you're bloody sexy," Anders answered with a crooked grin.

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow and frowned. "Not handsome, then?"

Anders sighed and patted Nathaniel's shoulder in a conciliatory manner. "Look, Nate; being handsome is overrated, if you ask me."

"You utter bastard!" Nathaniel exclaimed, and the two of them burst out laughing.

As their laughter trailed off, Anders sighed and looked up at the top of the wall. "Come on, then."

With a boost from Nathaniel, Anders clambered to the top of the wall and helped Nathaniel up. They looked around; ahead of them lay a field which backed onto Hawke's neighbour's property. A handful of cows grazed on the pasture, and a few trees were dotted around, providing scant cover.

They dropped down and straightened themselves up. "I know Hawke advised us to travel north-west," said Nathaniel, "but I think if we head north for a while until we reach the outskirts, and _then_ head west, we can skirt Lowtown altogether. It'll take a little longer, but I think it'll be safer. It's up to you, though, Anders; that's just my suggestion. You know Kirkwall better than I."

"No, Nate, that sounds sensible. I'd rather not risk running into any templars if we can help it," he replied, looking thoughtful. "Nate, do you think we should slip the cows a few coins to keep their mouths shut?"

Nathaniel seemed to consider this seriously. "Where would they keep them?"

Anders shrugged. I dunno; they don't wear clothes, but I'm sure they have _udder_ places in which to hide stuff."

"Maker, Anders! One would think that after six years your repertoire would have improved! Wait; actually, it _has_."

"What do you mean by that?" Anders asked indignantly.

"Never mind," answered Nathaniel with a glint of mirth in his eyes, and he took Anders' hand. "Now, come on; we're supposed to be running for our lives, remember?"

Anders nodded, a warm glow originating in his chest and spreading throughout his body. As Nathaniel led him across the field, occasionally ducking behind a tree on the way, he felt that no matter what happened, he would be safe with this man at his side.

~o~O~o~

After Hawke and Varric had lingered in Hightown for a while, they gradually made their way toward Lowtown, occasionally stopping and chatting along the way. They estimated that by the time they reached Lowtown, Nathaniel and Anders should almost be out of the city.

They finally reached the top of the steps connecting Hightown with Lowtown, and very slowly ambled down them, Varric greeting and nodding to several passers-by on the way. As they reached the bottom, Hawke paused and looked around.

"What do you see, Varric?"

"Is this a trick question, Hawke?" asked the dwarf. "'Cos if you tell you _everything_ I can see, we'll be here all day."

"All right, then, smart arse. What _don't_ you see?"

Varric grasped his chin and nodded. "Now, that's easy: templars. There are usually bunches of them around here."

"Right; they're obviously expecting us. We'd better lose ourselves, fast."

Varric nodded to their left and the two of them wandered over to the bazaar, where several rummage sales and an impromptu auction were taking place. They quickly blended in with the crowd, and it was here that Hawke regretted not wearing a robe beneath Anders' coat: he could have easily discarded his disguise here and emerged from the crowd as himself.

As the crowd began to thin out, Varric suddenly pushed Hawke against a wall and peered around a corner. "Templars at two o'clock," he muttered.

"How many?"

"About a dozen," he answered. "They're having some kind of meeting. Wait…more are joining them; shit, Hawke, Carver's there. He has his helmet on, but I'd know that sword anywhere."

"What? If Carver's here, he _must_ have seen us leave the house. There's no way he'd believe I was Anders. He'd never let me get away with that."

"Maybe he didn't see us, Hawke; maybe his back was turned, or he was taking a piss in an alleyway or something when we left."

"Yes, well, he certainly _will_ be pissed when he discovers what I've been up to. He'll _know_ we're acting as decoys. Now we have even more reason to hide; I want to give Nathaniel and Anders as long as possible to get away. Once Carver's onto us, the whole city will be swarming with those bastards."

"Let's stay with the crowd for a while," suggested Varric.

"But they may have seen us enter the bazaar," Hawke countered.

"I'm pretty certain they did, but I doubt they'll pull their swords on you while you're surrounded by people. The templars are hated enough as it is; I can't see them causing an incident here."

"All right then, Varric," Hawke agreed, and the two men made their way back to the bazaar. "We'll wait it out here for as long as we can."

~o~O~o~

Anders and Nathaniel made steady progress on their way north, and stuck to the outer limits of the city, crossing over farms and through the small patches of woodland that were sprinkled over the landscape. Just as the heavens opened and rain began to fall, they reached the point where they could venture no further north.

"This is where things get riskier, Anders," Nathaniel warned, pointing ahead as they took shelter beneath a few trees. "We're going to have to make our way through the docks. There's bound to be a templar presence, there; I daresay they check all departing vessels in search of stowaway apostates."

"Yes, you're right, there," Anders said sourly.

"There's a chance they may not actually be looking for you, Anders; I would imagine the highest concentration of templars would be in Lowtown, but nevertheless, we must be careful. I need to ask you this, Anders: can you keep Justice under control if we _do_ encounter any templars?"

Anders nodded. "He won't attack unless we're attacked first."

 _Why don't I find that very comforting?_ Nathaniel sighed. "Wait here; I'm going to scout ahead and get an idea of the templars' patrol routes. When it's safe, I'll beckon you over, all right?"

"Yes, Nate; be careful," said Anders. With a nod, Nathaniel walked away from him at a moderate pace. Feeling vulnerable without his presence, Anders wrapped his arms around himself and stepped further back into the shadow of the trees.

~o~O~o~

"Hawke, the bazaar's closing; we're gonna lose our cover, soon," advised Varric as the crowds began to disperse.

"Closing? Already? Shit, it's half-day today, isn't it?" Hawke slapped his forehead with his palm. "Of all the days to pick, we pick this one!"

"There are only a few templars around now, Hawke," said Varric, peering out into the street. "If we can get to The Hanged Man, we can hole up in my room."

"Looks like we have no other choice," Hawke conceded, and walked over to where his friend stood. "Ow!" he suddenly exclaimed as he felt a sharp pain in his left buttock.

"Not so fast, Anders," hissed a low voice from behind him. Hawke turned around to find himself standing at the end of a templar's sword.

" _Anders_? Have you lost the plot, or something?" he laughed derisively as another templar arrived at his side and yanked Hawke's arms behind his back. "Hey! There's no need for that!"

"Thought you could outsmart us, did you, you filthy abomination?" the sword-wielding templar spat, stepping closer to Hawke, pressing his weapon against his throat. "It's the _brand_ for you!"

"What do you think you're doing?" Varric asked the two knights. "That's the Champion of Kirkwall you're manhandling, there!"

"Oh yes, and my mother's the second coming of Andraste!" the first templar mocked, yanking off Hawke's hood. As the Champion's face was revealed, the two hapless templars gawked at one another and shook their heads in disbelief.

"Get your bloody hands off me!" Hawke commanded, and the templars leapt away from him as though he'd caught fire. "What do you think you're playing at?"

"M-most humble apologies, Champion," the second templar stuttered. "W-we thought you were…"

"You pair of imbeciles!" Another voice yelled from behind them, and they all turned to see an irate-looking templar striding towards them. "You said this was Anders!" he barked at his subordinates. "Get out of my sight!"

The two templars bowed quickly and ran as quickly as their armour would allow.

"Are you in charge of those clowns?" asked Hawke angrily.

"Yes, Champion; I'm terribly sorry for this misunderstanding. We were…we _believed_ we were in pursuit of the rogue mage, Anders. My men told me that you were he, because of your dress…"

"Enough with the excuses!" Varric interrupted. "How _dare_ you treat the Champion this way?"

"I humbly ask for your forgiveness," the templar lieutenant said with a bow. "Please, go about your business, Champion; my men will not bother you again, I swear." He turned to leave, and then paused. "Actually…you're an associate of Anders', aren't you? You _do_ know he killed a man in Darktown, don't you? When did you last see him?"

"Unbelievable!" Varric cried, dramatically throwing his arms up into the air.

Hawke stepped closer to the lieutenant and bristled. "So, not content with wrongfully arresting me, now I'm being cross-examined, am I?"

"No, of course not!" the lieutenant shrieked in horror. "I was merely…"

"What's your name?" Hawke demanded.

The lieutenant straightened up and cleared his throat. "Boulton, Champion; I-I…"

"Knight-Commander Meredith will be hearing of this!" threatened Hawke. "It comes to something when a man can't even go for a stroll about town without having a sword shoved up his arse!"

Boulton took a deep breath and nodded. "Of course, you must do what you think is best, Champion. I will leave you, now; please, accept my apologies once again." Boulton took another bow and scurried back to his knights; shouting and cursing could soon be heard from their location.

Hawke grinned down at Varric, who winked back at him. "Damn, we're good, aren't we?"

"We're the best," Varric agreed.

"Do you think we've bought them enough time?" asked Hawke, wincing as he rubbed his slightly-punctured buttock.

"I think so. If they haven't run into any trouble along the way, they should almost be out of the city by now."

"Good," said Hawke. "Let's go and collect these samples of old piss, then."

"Hmm," Varric mumbled absent-mindedly, remembering Nathaniel's question of earlier that morning which he'd been turning over in his head ever since, finding he was still no closer to an answer.

The two friends left the bazaar and brazenly strolled past Lieutenant Boulton, who was giving his men new orders. The templars glanced at Hawke momentarily before averting their eyes, all except one; a lone templar wearing a helm stood a little way away from the others, and watched Hawke and Varric intently, with his arms folded, as they walked past The Gallows. Varric, noticing him, nudged Hawke, and the Champion looked back at the knight for a few moments before heading toward the jetty.

Varric smiled a little and nodded at the templar, who responded with a curt nod of his own, and then turned and walked away, his magnificent greatsword reflecting the weak rays of sun that had broken through the clouds.

~o~O~o~

Having almost made their way to the west side of the docks, carefully avoiding the templar patrols on the way, Nathaniel and Anders paused behind a derelict building and drank some water from Nathaniel's gourd.

It had been raining steadily for the past hour since they'd reached the docks and the two of them were drenched, bedraggled, cold, and their spirits were sinking, particularly Nathaniel's.

"Damn, I'm sorry, Anders; I had no idea it would take us this long to get across the docks. I can see now why Hawke advised us to take a more direct route; I've just held us up."

"Hey," Anders said soothingly, gently clasping Nathaniel's arm. "We're safe, aren't we? We've come all this way and I've yet to see a templar; you've kept me completely out of their sight. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Nathaniel didn't answer; instead he looked to his right side and raised a finger to his lips.

"What's wrong?" Anders mouthed silently.

"Wait here," Nathaniel mouthed back at him, and sidled along the wall of the building they were hiding behind. He slowly peered around the corner and his head quickly snapped back, a look of frustration on his face. Anders began to walk forward but Nathaniel stopped him by holding his hand up.

"Don't move," Nathaniel mouthed, and he took a small phial from his belt, holding it up to check he had the correct one. He then took a handkerchief from his pocket and walked back over to Anders.

"There are two templars blocking our exit just up ahead," he whispered. "I can disable them _without_ engaging them in a fight. The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves here. I want you to stay _here_ until I call you; I'll need your help with them."

"I'll stay here," Anders promised, feeling a little useless, but understanding why Nathaniel didn't want him going near the templars.

"Good." Nathaniel nodded and ripped the handkerchief in half, grimacing at the loud tearing noise it made. He then opened the phial and coated the two pieces of cloth in the clear liquid, holding them at arm's length. "Stay out of sight and be ready," he instructed Anders.

He walked away and disappeared around the corner; Anders listened carefully.

"Oh, thank the Maker I've found someone in authority!" he heard Nathaniel say. "Please, I need your help! Hurry!"

Anders pressed himself back into the doorway of the building as the templars walked around to the rear of the building. Nathaniel followed closely behind them, glancing behind himself, and then, seizing his opportunity, he reached around the templars and firmly covered their noses and mouths with the wet pieces of cloth.

Instinctively, the templars gasped, and inhaled some of the noxious fumes, temporarily stunning them, but one of them twisted away and blindly reached for his sword; from the corner of his eye, Nathaniel saw Anders charge forward.

"I told you to stay back!" he hissed, and clamped the cloth over the mouth of first templar; adrenaline pumped through him as he saw a familiar blue glow radiating from Anders as he approached the second templar, who had fallen to his knees, dizzy and disoriented. "He hasn't attacked you! Leave him be!"

The first templar squirmed momentarily in Nathaniel's arms before his eyes finally closed and he slumped to the ground. Nathaniel turned to see Justice/Anders standing over the second templar, who blearily looked up at the mage and gasped.

"I-it's you!" he exclaimed, "the abomi…" He was quickly silenced as Nathaniel covered his face with the other cloth, and, after a brief struggle, he, too, lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground.

"Blast it! They've seen you, now!" Nathaniel cursed and grabbed the arms of the first templar, dragging him around the corner, out of sight. "Help me, Anders!"

Seeing that Anders made no move to assist him, he looked up and saw that not Anders, but Justice, stood before him. "Justice! I need Anders back! We don't have time for this! Do you _want_ us to get away, or not?"

Justice took a step forward and stared down Nathaniel; although he was contained within Anders' body, he seemed much taller, and loomed over him. "I'm watching you, Nathaniel; I know you well, and you are manipulating Anders at every turn."

"And you're not?" Nathaniel spat back. "The very reason we're running is because of you! You've turned him into a murderer!"

"I see your purpose," Justice answered, ignoring his accusation. "You would take him back, would put a stop to our plans; well, I intend to stop _you_."

"Stop me, then!" challenged Nathaniel. "Stop me right now! Go on, kill me!"

Nathaniel's heart raced as he and Justice glared at one another, aware that the templars could regain consciousness at any moment.

"You can't, can you?" he asked, stepping closer to Justice. "You can't kill me, because that would be unjust. As warped a creature as you are, there is still some semblance of what is right and what is wrong within you."

"I _will_ stop you, mark my words," Justice threatened.

"I invite you to try," answered Nathaniel, glancing down at the first templar, whose leg twitched. "Now, stop this nonsense and bring Anders back! If we hang around for much longer, we'll be caught, Anders will be made tranquil, and you will be _dead_."

Justice's eyes narrowed for a second, and, much to Nathaniel's relief, the blue glow subsided and a blinking, confused Anders now stood before him. "What…what just happened, Nate?"

Nathaniel grabbed the second templar and dragged his prone body around the corner. He then crouched down and pressed the torn handkerchiefs over their mouths, ensuring they'd inhaled sufficient quantities of the fumes to keep them unconscious, before discarding the pieces of cloth.

"We need to get out of here, fast," Nathaniel urged, grabbing Anders' wrist and pulling him to the edge of the building. "They'll only be unconscious for a few minutes; one of them has seen you and will raise the alarm." He pointed over to the western limits of the dockyard, where the jagged peaks of the quarry rose in the distance. "We'll have to run for it; _can_ you run in that?" he asked, glancing at Hawke's robe.

Anders nodded. "If I hitch it up a little, yes. Just don't look at me; the last thing we need is for you to start laughing at me. Might hold us up a bit."

"I won't be doing much laughing until we're safely away from here," answered Nathaniel gravely. "Are you ready?"

"Ready," replied Anders, his breathing quickening.

"No sprinting," advised Nathaniel as they stepped out of the cover of the dilapidated building. "Save that for if we're spotted."

They started to walk quickly across the docks, their heads down as the rain was falling hard. As they passed a ship being loaded by dockers, Nathaniel broke into a jog; Anders hitched his robe up and followed suit. They had almost passed the ship when a voice called after them:

"Mage! MAGE! Halt and state your business at once!"

Nathaniel glimpsed over his shoulder and cursed under his breath as a templar walked down the gangplank of the ship, his sword drawn. "Now we sprint, Anders!"

"Hey! Stop!" the templar shouted as Anders and Nathaniel raced away from him. "You men, after them!" he ordered the dockers.

"Fuck yourself, templar," the supervisor answered. "We don't work for the Chantry, and you've held us up enough as it is, with your stupid inspection."

The templar growled and ran down the gangplank, slipping on the slick surface and falling onto his arse with a thud. Ignoring the dockers' laughs and jeers, he struggled to right himself, and, by the time he'd got to his feet, the two men were out of sight.

~o~O~o~

Anders and Nathaniel had run at full pelt into the mountains on a tide of adrenaline, but eventually they'd tired and had had to stop for a breather. Aware that the templars would be hot on their tails, however, they hadn't lingered for too long, and had made steady progress with one or two stops along the way.

Finally, they reached the quarry and Nathaniel took out Hawke's sketch, which by now was a soggy wad of papier mache.

"Up there," said Nathaniel, pointing ahead. "There are caves up in the hills; I think that's where Hawke meant."

"I don't care, let's just get out of this rain!" Anders complained, his saturated robe feeling like a lead apron.

Keeping an eye out for the city patrols, they made their way up into the hills, and ducked into the first cave they found, both breathing a sigh of relief.

"This un's taken," a gruff voice said from behind them. They turned to see a ruffian walking towards them, brandishing a dagger. Nathaniel knew he could disarm him in the blink of an eye, but didn't want any further trouble.

"Sorry, serah; we didn't mean to trespass, we're merely looking for shelter. Are any of these caves unoccupied?"

The thug looked him up and down, and, not fancying his chances against a well-armed rogue and a mage, grunted. "The one at the end. Keep the noise down, though; we don't want no unwanted attention."

"Thanks," replied Nathaniel.

"You haven't seen us," Anders told the thug.

"Same goes for you, mage," he answered.

Finally locating the cave at the end of the stretch, they conducted a search and concluded it was indeed empty.

"Right, I'll get a fire going," said Anders, sorting through the remnants of an abandoned firepit for wood.

"No magic," warned Nathaniel. "For all we know, there could be templars in these hills."

"But how else can I get it lit? We're soaked. Everything is soaked."

Nathaniel reached into his pocket and produced a small box, wrapped in cloth. "My tinder and flint are well wrapped up and should still be dry." He unwrapped the box and opened it; no moisture had penetrated the box, and he passed it to Anders. "You sort that out then, Anders; I'm going to have a look around and see where the patrols go."

"But you'll catch your death!" Anders protested.

"It's a little late for that, isn't it?" asked Nathaniel with a smile. "I won't be long."

"All right, Nate; I'll get it nice and warm in here for when you return."

~o~O~o~

When Nathaniel returned a short time later, Anders had tidied the cave and a large fire blazed at its centre. Hawke's robe and boots and Anders' satchel were laid out next to it, drying, and, to Nathaniel's amusement, so were Anders' small clothes.

He stood at the entrance of the cave, just out of the rain, watching as a naked Anders stood with his back to him, arranging an assortment of unguents and ointments on a small ledge that protruded from the rock. Although Nathaniel shivered in his cold, wet armour, a pleasant warmth settled in his belly as his eyes roamed over the gentle curve of Anders' long back, down to his slim hips, and settling on his neat, tight buttocks.

"Having a good ogle, are you?" Anders asked, having sensed Nathaniel's taint.

"Warden-Commander's privilege," he answered, slowly walking over to where Anders stood. "I get to ogle any Warden I choose."

"Funny; I don't remember that rule," said Anders, and a shiver ran through him as he felt Nathaniel's hand stroke his buttock.

"Well, of course you don't; I just made it up," answered Nathaniel, bringing his other hand around to Anders' chest.

Anders turned around. "You're not coming anywhere near me, Warden-Commander, with that soaking wet, freezing cold armour on!" His hands moved to the straps on Nathaniel's leather tunic. "Let's get you out of this, yes?"

Nathaniel nodded and let Anders assist him to remove his armour; belts, chains and buckles fell to the ground, quickly followed by a leather tunic. Nathaniel stepped out of his boots, holding onto Anders' arm for support, and then removed his leggings and a very soggy pair of small clothes. The two of them stood barely a foot apart, both appreciating the sight in front of them.

"What do you suppose Varric and Hawke would say if they found us like this?" asked Anders, moving closer to Nathaniel.

"Well, I expect Varric would roll his eyes and chuckle, and Hawke would say something snarky, and then they'd both skedaddle," Nathaniel answered. "Which would still leave only you and I, naked and _ogling_ one another."

Anders groaned as he felt Nathaniel's semi-erect cock press against his own. "That's true," he said, his words coming out as a croak.

"Anders…" Nathaniel whispered huskily, his hands moving to Anders' buttocks. "…I want you. Maker, I want you."

Anders' hands ran up Nathaniel's chest and he closed his eyes as Nathaniel's lips slammed against his; a muffled cry sounded from Anders and he pulled away a little, gasping for breath, but Nathaniel did not relent and pushed him hard against the rock, devouring his swollen and tender lips.

"Nate!" Anders cried and started moving his hips as Nathaniel moved down to his neck, grabbing Anders' buttocks and roughly pulling them apart, producing a stretching sensation that was both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time.

"I have to be inside you!" growled Nathaniel, firmly pushing two fingers into Anders, the friction from his dry fingers causing spasms of pain and ecstasy tearing through Anders, and he threw his head back and yelped, one hand blindly grabbing at the pots he'd laid out on the shelf, sending several of them falling to the ground and smashing.

"Agh!" yelled Anders as Nathaniel moved down to his chest and bit down hard on his nipple, his fingers pumping in and out of Anders. "T-take this!" he stammered, thrusting a small pot into Nathaniel's free hand.

Nathaniel slowly pulled his fingers out of Anders and fumbled with the lid on the pot. "Turn around," he ordered.

"No," said Anders, snatching the pot away from him. " _You_ turn around." He grabbed Nathaniel's arms and spun him round to face the wall. "You can't have everything your own way, Commander."

"Anders…" prostested Nathaniel, but he made no effort to move.

Anders flipped the lid off the pot and scooped out a waxy substance which smelled faintly of rosehip. He melted it between his palms, and coated his shaft with the warm, oily liquid. "I've never been inside you, Nate; I want to feel you around me, I want to feel your heat." He moved one hand around to grasp Nathaniel's cock; with the other, he slowly slid two of his fingers inside Nathaniel.

"A little more gently this time, yes?" he whispered into Nathaniel's ear, who responded with a grunt, and pushed his bottom against Anders' hand.

"Nice and slow; that's how I like it," Anders said softly, and slowly began to stroke Nathaniel's cock, the fingers of his other hand seeking out his tender spot, deep inside.

"Ugh…uh…Anders…" Nathaniel groaned, his breath hitching, and he braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other assisting Anders to squeeze his cock, trying to quicken the pace, but Anders resisted and continued with his excruciatingly slow strokes.

"Anders….faster…"

"No."

"Anders!" Nathaniel crushed Anders' hand with his, and began to quicken the pace of his strokes; Anders reciprocated by hastening the movements of his fingers inside Nathaniel. Nathaniel's other hand began to claw at the rock walls and each breath came out as a soft grunt; he could feel pressure building inside him, and knew he wouldn't last long.

"Anders…" he gasped, throwing his head back, "...you'd better fuck me now, before it's too late."

"Yes, Commander," Anders said into his ear, and he pulled his fingers out of Nathaniel, using his hand to position his cock at his entrance. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this, Nate?" he asked, nibbling at the nape of his neck.

"Less talk," growled Nathaniel, thrusting into Anders' hand. "More fucking!"

Anders grinned and pushed himself in a little, feeling resistance, and Nathaniel hissed at the initial discomfort. "Keep going!" he urged.

Removing his hand from his cock and wrapping it around Nathaniel's waist, Anders began to ease himself deeper in, and, just when he was halfway in, he felt a surge of heat and tightness as Nathaniel squeezed him, and he lurched forward, moaning into Nathaniel's ear. For a moment neither man could move; Anders' hand froze on Nathaniel's shaft and he squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in Nathaniel's hair, their heavy, irregular breathing echoing off the walls.

"Fuck me, Anders," Nathaniel implored hoarsely, and began to move Anders' hand up and down his own shaft.

Slowly, Anders pushed himself further in until his belly pressed against the small of Nathaniel's back, his face contorted and his teeth gritted as he began to lose all semblance of himself.

"Anders!"

With a deep, rasping groan, Anders began to slowly thrust in and out of Nathaniel, his hand wantonly grabbing and squeezing at Nathaniel's cock. Nathaniel braced both of his hands against the wall and rutted against Anders' hand, his movements becoming more clumsy and uncoordinated as he felt his release build inside him; he heard Anders' breathing take on a harsh, strident quality as he jerked his hips, ramming into him harder and harder.

Anders' enthusiasm undid Nathaniel and with one last thrust, his seed spurted against the wall, his legs almost giving way from beneath him. Anders released his cock and wrapped his arms tightly around Nathaniel's waist, half-supporting Nathaniel and half-supporting himself, and he yelled into Nathaniel's ear as he poured his own cum into him, almost collapsing as his own legs turned to jelly.

"Nate!" Anders' hips continued to twitch and Nathaniel felt more warmth pump into him, and then felt himself being stretched as Anders left him and shakily lowered himself to the floor, slumping onto his back, gasping and panting. Nathaniel held onto the wall as he, too, lowered himself down, not trusting his own legs, and leaned on his elbow as he lay at Anders' side.

"I think you'll have to have a turn more often," he said, running his hand down Anders' chest.

Anders' eyes flickered open, and his head lolled back as he laughed softly. "Oh, Nate…if I could die right now, I'd be a happy man."

"Don't you dare," warned Nathaniel. "It's _my_ turn next time."

Anders laughed and weakly raised his arms, inviting Nathaniel closer. The two of them lay together for a while in silence, touching and stroking the other, and occasionally laughing.

"I suppose we'd better get dressed, if our clothes are dry," Nathaniel suggested after a while. "Your friends will be here, soon."

"Let's just have a few more minutes, Nate," said Anders, and gazed into Nathaniel's eyes as the rogue pulled himself up a little.

Nathaniel's hand moved to Anders' cheek and softly stroked it; he then leaned down and gently kissed him. "Anders," he whispered, running his hands through Anders' dirty blond hair. "Come home with me; it's where you belong."

Anders went to speak, but Nathaniel interrupted him. "Whatever is going on with Justice, we'll work something out. Please, Anders; you belong at my side. I never want to be apart from you again. I love you."

"I love you too, Nate."

"Then say you'll come home with me."

Anders closed his eyes and pulled Nathaniel closer to him, but remained silent.

So did Justice.


	9. Lying In Wait

By the time Varric and Hawke found where Nathaniel and Anders were hiding, the two of them had dressed and had brewed up some tea, which a sodden, freezing cold Hawke and Varric were very grateful for. The rain had begun to let up, and Anders and Nathaniel were eager to get going, but they did allow the new arrivals to warm themselves for a while, and they all exchanged details of their recent adventures as they sat around the fire.

"I think the templars have given up for the time being," said Hawke. "This is an inhospitable place at the best of times, even without this filthy weather, and I think they've called off their search for now, as we haven't seen a single one once we left Kirkwall."

Varric nodded in agreement. "The quarry is immense, and as they have no idea where we're hiding, or headed to, it'd be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Although, Blondie, I'd say that once you step back into Kirkwall, all bets are off."

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Hawke said. "Let's just get the drakestone, and then Anders can be freed from Justice. Then we can prove to the templars he's not possessed."

Nathaniel's eyes wandered over to where Varric sat; the dwarf also glanced in his direction, and, for a second, their eyes met, before they both looked away. Varric got to his feet and removed the belt Nathaniel had loaned him. "I'll need to hide this somewhere," he murmured, looking toward the rear of the cave.

"If you say there are no templars around, Hawke or I can ward the cave," suggested Anders. "You can put the crystals out of sight, but there's no need to go to any great trouble."

Varric nodded and walked to the back of the cave, where he carefully placed the belt on the ground.

"Allow me," offered Hawke. "My wards give people hallucinations. What do you think, Anders?"

Anders grasped his chin and smiled. "Spiders are always good."

"Spiders it is, then," Hawke replied. "Are we all ready to depart?"

The other three left their belongings where they were and exited the cave, taking only their weapons. The rain had stopped for the time being, although the sky remained a dreary, washed-out grey. Hawke stood at the entrance to the cave and closed his eyes, whispering to himself; several strange symbols of white light appeared on the ground before him, and then quickly faded.

"That's it? It's warded, now?" asked Varric, and Hawke nodded. "I gotta try this," he said, stepping forward to where the symbols had appeared. "I just step on them?"

"Just walk into the cave, and see what happens," said Hawke with a devilish grin.

"I'm not afraid of spiders," boasted Varric as he boldly strode forward. No sooner had he stepped foot inside, than four gargantuan pairs of legs scuttled towards him, groaning under the weight of a hideous, bloated body that was twice the size of Varric.

"Holy fucking shit, Hawke!" cried Varric as he stumbled backwards, almost tripping over Nathaniel's foot. "What the fuck was that?"

"A spider," Hawke answered with a nonchalant shrug. "A bloody _big_ one."

"I thought you weren't afraid of them?" teased Anders.

"I'm not!" Varric protested, clutching at his chest, "I was just taken unawares, that's all!"

"Riiiight," drawled Hawke with a wink a Nathaniel and Anders. "Well, Varric, when you've finished not being afraid, shall we get going?"

"Way ahead of you there, Hawke," Varric grumbled sourly as he very quickly walked away from the cave.

~o~O~o~

Varric's mood had not improved as they neared the infamous Bone Pit; the mine had not acquired its name by accident, and he made no secret of the fact he was uncomfortable going there. Hawke did his best to lift his spirits, although the return of the rain had left them all feeling somewhat deflated.

The other two dropped back a little; Anders had noticed that Nathaniel had been subdued after leaving the cave. "Are you all right, Nate?"

Nathaniel had been pondering his conversation with Justice at the docks, and the spirit's mention of his and Anders' 'plan'. He realised, with frustration, that he couldn't directly ask Anders for details, as, not only had Anders been unaware of the conversation, but he risked another confrontation with Justice if he did.

He'd also thought of Justice's accusation that Nathaniel was manipulating Anders. Although he hadn't intentionally tried to sway Anders, he had noted that the first time he'd asked Anders to return to Ferelden with him, he'd refused, but the second time Nathaniel had asked, only a short time ago, Anders had not answered. Could he be considering it?

 _Well, if Justice already thinks I'm manipulating Anders, I may as well live up to that. At least my manipulating will be in a good cause._

"I was just thinking of home," said Nathaniel, a faraway look in his eyes. "I've been away for a few months, now, and I'm starting to miss the old place."

Anders nodded but didn't reply.

"Although," added Nathaniel, "the rain here is making me feel right at home."

A wistful look came into Anders' eyes. "Yes, I remember that; it never seemed to stop raining at the Keep, did it? Something I used to like, though, was lying in bed at night, hearing it pelt against the windows."

"Yes, me, too," Nathaniel agreed. "It was very soothing." He took Anders' hand. "It was raining that night, wasn't it?"

"Was it?" Anders asked, his brow knitting together as he tried to recall. "I can't say I remember; I had my mind on _other_ things."

Nathaniel chuckled. "Oh, so did I, Anders, believe me, but you fell asleep long before I did. I remember listening to the rain as I watched you sleep."

"You-you watched me sleep?"

"For a time, yes, although I had to turn over after a while as your snoring became distracting."

"I do not snore!"

"Do, too."

Anders glanced at Nathaniel, failing to keep the grin off his face, and felt a warm glow as Nathaniel winked at him. "So, how is everyone at the Keep?" he enquired. "I'm afraid I didn't think to ask, with all that's been going on."

"Oh, the same old gang are there," replied Nathaniel. "Old Varel's still going strong; Maker, I'd be lost without him. Oghren comes and goes; much of his time is taken up with his son, now."

Anders grinned. "You mean he got back with Felsi?"

"In a way, yes," chuckled Nathaniel. "We know that when he comes back to the Keep, she's kicked him out again; he does his best, though. He named his son Aedan, you know."

Anders shook his head and smiled softly. "Somehow, I can't imagine Oghren bouncing a tot upon his knee."

"He's hardly a tot, now," Nathaniel said with a fond smile. "He's a growing lad. Cute, though, and he knows it. I bet you'd get on with him; my nephew, too."

Anders nodded again, and the two of them fell silent for a while.

"Do you…miss the Keep, Anders?" Nathaniel asked, watching him carefully.

Anders sighed and closed his eyes for a second; he then cast Nathaniel a sideways glance. "I know what you're trying to do, Nate," he said with a knowing smile. Nathaniel returned his look, neither confirming nor denying Anders' hypothesis. "I know you want me to go home with you. Maybe we'd just better concentrate on our task for the moment."

"And what's wrong with that?" asked Nathaniel, feeling sudden irritation, wondering if Anders' refusal to discuss the matter had come from him, or from Justice. "Yes, I _do_ want you to come home with me. At least _I'm_ being upfront about what I want, Anders."

"What do you mean by that?"

Nathaniel bit down an angry retort and lowered his voice. "Perhaps you're right, Anders; we _should_ concentrate on our task. That's the only thing that matters to you, isn't it?" He turned and started to walk away.

"Nathaniel, wait!" Anders cried, grabbing his arm.

Nathaniel looked down at his arm and shrugged himself free from Anders' grip. "You have nothing left here, now, Anders; there's no reason why you can't return home. Or is there?" he asked in an accusing tone.

"Nate…"

"I want more than fucking in a cave, Anders!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "Perhaps you'd better decide what _you_ want. I need to return home, soon, and I won't be coming back."

Anders could only watch in dismay as Nathaniel walked quickly ahead and joined the other two.

 _What a selfish man he is. Not once has he considered your needs, Anders. Can you not see how he manipulates you? Is this truly the act of a friend, someone with your best interests at heart?_

 _**I don't need both of you making me feel guilty! I need to work this out on my own!** _

_When you are with him, you feel unfocused, ambivalent, and hesitant, as you are feeling now. I give you strength, focus and a clear purpose. Yes, he provides you with earthly pleasures, and perhaps even feelings of love, but such things are fleeting, Anders, and only serve as a distraction. Do your magi brethren, locked in their cells, starved, beaten, and rejected for being what they were born to be, experience such pleasures? No! You have had your fun, Anders. Stop being so selfish and focus on the task at hand!_

 _**You're wrong. We can complete our work and I can still be with him.** _

_Do you really think he will support you now, Anders?_

 _**You said he'd be proud of me!** _

_That was before I saw how easily he turns his back on you. Look at him, talking with your friends, YOUR friends, and ignoring you, all because he can't get his own way. Has he once shown any interest in your cause? In the plight of the magi? He isn't interested, Anders; their suffering means nothing to him._

 _**I haven't spoken of it, there hasn't been time. He's a very caring man; he was deeply moved by the conditions in Darktown. He helped a pregnant lady.** _

_He doesn't care for people like that! He merely feels guilt over his privileged upbringing! Would he give up his lifestyle in sympathy for those less fortunate than him, as you have? Of course not! He is greedy, vain, and completely selfish! You would be better off without him!_

"That's enough!" Anders yelled, and stopped dead in his tracks as his companions spun round to look at him.

"Anders?" asked Nathaniel, walking over to him.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," he mumbled.

Nathaniel glanced at Varric and Hawke, who took the hint and continued walking. "Anders…your hands are shaking," he said softly, taking them in his.

Anders looked to the side, doing his best not to blink, as he knew that tears would spill down his cheeks if he did. "Nate…I'm sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," replied Nathaniel. "I was harsh with you, and you didn't deserve that. I…oh, Anders." He reached up to touch Anders' face, brushing away a tear.

Anders pressed his lips together and stepped closer to Nathaniel, who wrapped his arms around him. Anders closed his eyes and pulled him closer. "You're the only one I feel safe with, Nate," he said quietly, no longer feeling as distraught in Nathaniel's embrace. "I-I don't ever want to leave your side."

"Then, please, come home with me," whispered Nathaniel.

"Knock it off, you two!" called Hawke from up ahead. "There'll be plenty of time for _that_ , later. The Bone Pit's just ahead. Let's get this drakestone before night falls."

Nathaniel released Anders and smoothed his hair back. "Come on. We'll get this out of the way, and then we'll talk when we get back to the cave, all right?"

Anders looked ahead, firmly suppressing the urge to tell Nathaniel everything, exactly what the drakestone was needed for, and that perhaps he no longer needed it, but he hesitated, torn over what to do for the best.

"Anders?" Nathaniel prompted.

"Yes, we'll talk later," he answered blankly and walked forward with Nathaniel, feeling like his feet belonged to someone else.

~o~O~o~

Their foray into the Bone Pit had taken longer than expected, as the drakestone was not as abundant as they'd hoped, and, much to Varric's consternation, the party had been assailed by several tiny dragonlings, and he'd expressed concern as to where their mother was.

They'd soon found out: almost immediately after collecting the last sample, they'd been ambushed by a mature dragon that had been lying in wait for them. During the fight, Anders had found his eyes roaming to Nathaniel several times; the fluidity and grace of his movements with the bow were mesmerising, and Anders was once again reminded of how safe and protected he felt in his presence.

Darkness had fallen by the time they'd finally left the Bone Pit, although thankfully, the rain had stopped, and the faggots of wood they'd retrieved from the cave remained dry. Anders had been very quiet on the way back. Nathaniel assumed that he was thinking over his proposal and decided not to press him further; little did he realise the internal battle that was raging within Anders.

They finally reached the cave, and Hawke politely stepped aside. "After you, Varric," he said pleasantly, winking at Anders and Nathaniel.

"Oh, thanks, Hawke," chirped Varric, who stepped forward into the cave. "Holy crap!" he yelled as he scurried back out to his laughing companions. "You bastard, Hawke! You could have reminded me!"

Hawke pushed his bottom lip out and frowned. "I thought you of all people would have remembered, Varric," he said as he closed his eyes and held one hand up, dispelling the wards. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend, shaking his head. "I don't know; you battled a mighty dragon, but you're scared of an imaginary spider? These dwarves are all talk," he teased as he sauntered into the cave.

"You piece of shit," Varric growled after him.

Using the wood they'd retrieved, an impressive fire was built in the centre of the cave, and all of them, even Varric, relaxed and stretched out next to it. There was no hunting to be had at the quarry, so the four of them shared out their dried foods. Hawke once again warded the entrance to the cave so that no one would have to keep watch during the night.

"What if I need to take a piss during the night, Hawke?" asked Varric.

"Look, it's not real," answered Hawke. "Just close your eyes and walk outside."

"I don't believe you!" Varric retorted. "I didn't just _see_ that spider; I heard it and I smelled it."

"It's not a spider this time," Hawke told him.

"What is it, then?" asked Varric.

"It's a surprise!" Hawke exclaimed with a cackle.

" _I_ know what it is," Anders said, having read the symbols cast upon the floor by Hawke. "You're cruel, Hawke. Really cruel."

"Spit it out, Blondie!" Varric insisted.

"I'm sorry, friend, but I'd pay good money to see your reaction to _that_ ," said Anders with a sly grin, ignoring Varric's evil look.

"Well, you'd both better pray that I don't need a shit, instead," groused Varric, "'cos I'll be dumping it right next to your heads."

"Not too close to me, please," Nathaniel requested.

"Of course not, Shadow; you're the only decent one in this group!"

"Varric's pet!" Hawke teased, and Nathaniel laughed.

Anders smiled to himself as he listened to, and joined in with the banter amongst his friends.

His friends.

There was Garrett Hawke, who had not batted an eyelid the first time Justice had shown himself, and had accepted Anders, even though, to others, he was an abomination. Hawke had supported almost all of Anders' ideas for improved circumstances for mages, and had gently talked him down from some of the more extreme ones; the extreme ones Anders had _told_ him about, anyway. Hawke had pulled every string he could to get better conditions for the poor souls living in Darktown, and had dug into his own pockets when Anders' own funds had been used up. Hawke had not hesitated to help him at every turn.

Then there was Varric. Not only had he, too, helped to keep Anders' clinic going and to feed and clothe the people of Darktown, but Anders also knew that for some time Varric and his network had been protecting him from the templars. Anders had asked him about it once, and Varric had shrugged it off, but Anders knew.

And finally, there was Nathaniel. Nate. The first and only man, the only person, that Anders had allowed himself to fall in love with. They were like black and white, like night and day, but somehow, they were right together. Nathaniel was the only person Anders felt completely safe and normal with, and he had felt like he'd been walking around with a limb missing until Nathaniel had returned to Kirkwall.

These men, whom Anders felt truly privileged to know, were his friends.

 _**What kind of a friend have I been to them? I've lied to them. I've cheated them. I've used them.** _

Justice didn't answer.

"Shall we settle down for the night, Anders?" asked Nathaniel, taking a blanket out of his pack.

"Hm? Oh…oh, yes, of course," Anders answered, and, taking his own blanket out, he and Nathaniel stood.

"We're going to turn in," Nathaniel announced. "Goodnight."

Hawke and Varric bade them goodnight in return, and Nathaniel and Anders walked to the rear of the cave, setting their blankets down on the ground.

"Do you want to go to sleep, Anders, or would you like to talk?" asked Nathaniel as he sat down on the ground. "It's up to you; I'm not going to keep putting pressure on you."

Anders sat down next to him and placed his head on Nathaniel's shoulder. "We don't need to talk, Nate. I've made my mind up."

Nathaniel looked down at him and hesitated for a moment. "What…do you mean…?"

"Yes, Nate," he answered, glancing up at him with shining eyes. "I'm coming home with you."

Nathaniel felt his breath catch. "Are-are you sure? Is this what you really want?"

"Yes," Anders replied. "I'm going to do what _I_ want for once."

Lost for words, Nathaniel pulled Anders tightly against him and rested his head against Anders', closing his eyes. Anders in turn wrapped his arms around Nathaniel, and, as he gradually felt his eyelids grow heavy, he looked at the belt Varric had lain on the floor, and then looked at his satchel, which contained the drakestone fragments. Tomorrow, he resolved, he would destroy the samples and think up an excuse. Or maybe he'd just tell them the truth. He would sleep on it, and see which option seemed the best in the morning.

Turning slightly and placing a gentle kiss to Nathaniel's head, he closed his eyes and willed himself into the fade.

~o~O~o~

Sometime during the night, Anders awoke and looked around; his three companions were all sleeping soundly. He gently removed Nathaniel's arms from around him and slowly pushed himself to his feet, having a good stretch as he stood up. He walked to the centre of the cave so he stood equidistant to Nathaniel and the other two, and outstretched his arms. A pale, white light surrounded his three companions, and their breathing grew heavier, their snores louder.

He walked over to the rear of the cave and retrieved the belt from the ground, wrapping it around his waist. He then pressed his hand against his satchel, checking that the drakestone samples were still within, and walked over to the entrance of the cave.

He closed his eyes and mumbled something under his breath; the wards flickered briefly before fizzling out completely. He then stepped out of the cave and placed a ward of his own at the entrance.

Without a backward glance, he left the cave and began to make his way out of the quarry, only a faint blue glow lighting his way in the darkness.


	10. Betrayal

>

Hawke clutched his head and groaned as he sat up. With a quick glance over at the cave entrance it was apparent that day had broken, but the light had not improved much, and another dismal day beckoned. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and licked his lips, trying to get his saliva flowing; his mouth was as dry as the bones of the unfortunate slaves that littered the quarry.

His head pounded and he rubbed his eyes, which were caked with sleep. How had he slept so heavily on solid rock?

He suddenly paused, and raised his hands up to his face, turning them over; he could feel something on his skin, something nebulous and gossamer-like, almost as though he'd walked through a cobweb. He closed his eyes and brought his hands closer to his face, and, in his mind, he saw the outline of his hands surrounded by an indistinct grey halo.

His eyes snapped opened. _Someone's used magic on me!_

Immediately, he turned his head toward the rear of the cave where Nathaniel and Anders were sleeping. Nathaniel lay on his side with his back to Hawke, and he couldn't quite make out Anders; the rear of the cave received no light from the entrance and was in shadow. Hawke pushed himself to his feet, deciding it was about time they all rose, and that he'd ask Anders why he'd cast a spell on him, and which one.

As he stood, he was assaulted by another sensation; tiny pinpricks of warning stabbed at his skin, and once again his eyes darted to the cave entrance.

"Varric, did you disturb my wards?"

The dwarf, who was normally a light sleeper, continued to snore.

"Varric?" Hawke walked over to his friend and crouched down, laying his hand on the dwarf's shoulder, then quickly retracting his fingers, which tingled at the touch of Varric's coat. Hawke stood up and closed his eyes, envisioning Varric's supine form, which, like his hands, was surrounded by a faint grey aura.

"What the hell is going on?" Hawke said out loud. "Anders?" he called out, and glanced over to where Nathaniel slept; no answer came and Nathaniel did not move.

Hawke, concerned that some being had entered the cave during the night and put them all to sleep, closed his eyes for the third time to see if any unwelcome guests were present among them. In his mind's eye he saw two grey outlines, those of Varric, who was right in front of him, and Nathaniel, who lay sleeping at the back of the cave. No other creatures, save a few bats and insects, were present.

Where was Anders?

Keeping his eyes shut, Hawke concentrated on Varric and Nathaniel, reciting a basic sleep spell in reverse. Hearing a snort, he opened his eyes and looked down at Varric, who rubbed his own eyes and grimaced as he slowly sat up.

"Maker's breath, Hawke! Did we drink so much last night that I can't actually remember drinking _anything_?"

"We didn't drink anything but tea," Hawke replied grimly, watching as Nathaniel also began to stir.

"Then why do I feel like I've been fucked in the ear?" asked Varric as he unsteadily rose to his feet.

"Nathaniel?" Hawke called over. "Has Anders stepped out?"

"Erm…" mumbled a bleary Nathaniel as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "I suppose he might have, to answer a call of nature?"

Hawke noticed that Nathaniel was staring at a particular part of the cave wall, confusion evident on his face. "What's wrong, Nathaniel?"

"Well, his staff is gone. I don't see why he'd need to take that to relieve himself."

"Maker's balls!" exclaimed Varric, charging over to the rear of the cave, where he looked around frantically. "Did you move the belt, Shadow?"

Nathaniel sprang to his feet, and he, too, began a search for the belt containing the sela petrae crystals.

"Shit, Hawke! The blighted belt's gone!" Varric blurted out, continuing to search the same spots over and over again as the Champion wandered over.

"So's his satchel," mumbled Nathaniel quietly, a deep line creasing his brow. "I don't…I don't…" He shook his head and stared at the floor; Varric ceased his fruitless search and took a few steps toward Nathaniel, who shook his head again as his eyes met Varric's. "He-he wouldn't…I…he told me he was coming home with me…"

"Damn, I'm sorry, Shadow," Varric said with a heavy sigh, placing a hand on Nathaniel's arm. "Looks like he played us, after all."

"But he swore to me…he-he promised he wasn't lying to me," Nathaniel whispered, placing a hand over his mouth.

"You two obviously know what's going on," said Hawke irritably. "Would someone care to fill _me_ in?"

Varric groaned and shook his head. "Shadow and I have had our suspicions about Blondie, that he wasn't being entirely straight with us."

"And you didn't think to inform me?"

"It was just a feeling, Hawke; intuition, you know? We had nothing to back it up, until…"

"Until now, when it's probably too late?" snapped Hawke. "Nathaniel, any idea what he might be up to? Where he might be?"

Nathaniel closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No," he began quietly, and opened his eyes to face Hawke. "Although…"

"Although?" Hawke repeated impatiently.

"I've had a few…conversations with Justice, during which he mentioned a 'plan' of theirs, although he didn't elaborate further."

"Shit," muttered Varric, turning his back on them.

"Isn't it a little late to be telling us this, Nathaniel?" asked Hawke, clearly incensed.

"And what was I supposed to do? Ask Anders, with Justice lurking in the background? You're the one who told me that Justice has almost complete control of him, now; who do you think he told to shut up at the Bone Pit? It wasn't any of us, that's for sure."

"He's right, Hawke," opined Varric, turning back to face them. "He couldn't just call Blondie on it, could he? Justice would have told him to suck his dick."

"It just would have been nice to be in the loop, that's all," argued Hawke. "Maybe we could have put our heads together, worked something out."

"Like what, Hawke?" Varric retorted, folding his arms. "No, come on; I'm all ears."

"We don't have time for this," interjected Nathaniel, collecting his belongings together. "Anders is out there somewhere with those samples, at Justice's mercy; instead of bickering in here, we should be looking for him."

"You really believe this is all Justice, then?" asked Varric.

"I don't know," Nathaniel said listlessly, "but I believe that Anders was genuine in his wish to return home with me. When he spoke to me last night, he sounded so determined."

"Actually, Nathaniel…" Hawke began, and then grimaced sheepishly.

"Actually, what?"

"Shit." Hawke cursed under his breath. "What you mentioned before, about when Anders told Justice to shut up? Well…erm, I sort of sensed a change in him from that point onwards."

"What do you mean?" asked Nathaniel.

"Well, I've felt it before; it's like Justice exerts his influence over Anders without actually showing himself…"

"For fuck's sake, Hawke!" cried Varric furiously. "You've just been berating us for not telling you something we couldn't prove, and you keep _that_ from us?"

"Look, I'm sorry," said Hawke. "Like I said, I've felt it before several times; I just didn't think it was significant."

"Are you saying that Anders wasn't…I mean, what he said last night…that wasn't him, but Justice?" Nathaniel asked.

"Probably," said Hawke with an apologetic shrug.

Nathaniel stared at Hawke for a moment without blinking, his nostrils flaring. "We've wasted enough time," he said angrily, feeling like a complete fool. "Dispel those wards and let's get going, _quickly_." He walked away from the other two men and stood at the cave entrance, his arms folded.

Hawke sighed and walked over to where Nathaniel stood while Varric retrieved their belongings. "Wait…" said Hawke, his brow furrowing as he stared at the ground next to the cave entrance.

"What?" Nathaniel asked coldly.

"These-these are not my wards! What the…?" Hawke crouched down and examined the ground, his hands tracing shapes that the other two couldn't see. He stood up and faced them; Varric was by now ready, and stood next to Nathaniel.

"This doesn't make any sense; the wards, I mean," said Hawke. "I don't understand them; they're written in Arcanum cipher, but the symbols are gobbledegook, completely nonsensical."

"Can you dispel them?" asked Varric.

"I can, but it'll take some time."

"Then get started," ordered Nathaniel, who then turned away from them and walked a short distance away, where he began to pace back and forth.

"How long will it take?" asked Varric.

"I need to concentrate," Hawke snapped, and Varric, holding his hands up, sighed and took a step back, saying no more.

After what had seemed like hours, but was in fact no longer than fifteen minutes, Hawke stood and placed his hands on his hips. "Bastard!" he muttered.

"What?" asked Varric, cautiously venturing over.

"These are summoning wards," Hawke said ominously. "This is no spell of Anders'; this is dark magic."

Nathaniel stopped pacing and listened.

"I dread to think what would have happened if we'd triggered these wards," Hawke continued. "Something would have been summoned; there is a name there, but I don't recognise it: 'Shuxx Vucub'…what the hell _is_ that?"

Varric shuddered. "Ugh, I don't like the sound of that, Hawke; kinda sounds like something demonic, to me."

"That's _precisely_ what it sounds like," he answered, his mouth twisting in anger. "The bastard was trying to kill us!"

"But we were no threat to him," Nathaniel offered, walking over to join them. "Justice had an opportunity to kill me while we were at the docks; in fact, I challenged him to do so, but he couldn't."

"Who knows what's going on in that warped mind of his?" asked Hawke. "Perhaps he reasoned that if I wasn't smart enough to dispel the wards, then it was _just_ that I become possessed and kill the two of you?"

"We've gotta stop him, Hawke; he's completely lost it," said Varric.

Hawke nodded. "I think I can dispel them, now; stand back and be prepared, though, just in case."

The two archers stepped away and readied their weapons.

"If anything happens to me, don't hesitate," instructed Hawke.

"Right," grunted Varric.

Hawke took a deep breath and held his hand over the spot where Justice had laid his wards. As he whispered to himself, Nathaniel and Varric watched as purple lights and symbols waxed on the ground and then waned just as quickly; Hawke released his breath and stepped forward. "Now, let's see if this worked."

He gingerly walked through the entrance to the cave; Varric and Nathaniel both held their breath, and released it as Hawke stepped outside, unscathed.

"Fuck me," Varric grumbled as he and Nathaniel followed Hawke.

"Let's get out of this hole," muttered Hawke, striding away from the cave as the other two caught up. "Any thoughts on where he might be, anyone?"

"Well, that all depends on who we're dealing with," answered Varric. "Blondie wouldn't be stupid enough to return to Kirkwall, but Justice? Who knows?"

"He could be hiding out in these hills," Nathaniel speculated. "I could sense his taint if he was close enough, but I daresay he already has a massive head start on us."

"How close would you have to be to sense him, Nathaniel?" asked Hawke.

"Oh, I don't know; fifty feet, give or take."

"That's not much," said Varric, and Nathaniel shrugged. "Well, I'm heading back to The Hanged Man; I'll get some of my contacts together, call in some favours, see what I can find out. Unless the two of you want to hang around here, it'd be a help to have you with me."

"I'm not staying in this Maker-forsaken place for one second longer," said Hawke with disgust.

"Shadow?" Varric asked.

"The Hanged Man, it is," answered Nathaniel, and the three men set off as quickly as their heavy spirits would allow.

~o~O~o~

They took a direct route to Lowtown, something Nathaniel was glad of, as he didn't fancy crossing the docks again, where he may have been recognised by at least three of the templars posted there. It took them most of the morning to reach the outskirts of Kirkwall, and they noticed that there didn't seem to be many people around, ascribing the fact to the ominous black clouds that gathered overhead.

Once they entered Lowtown, however, it quickly became apparent that something was very wrong; the streets were deserted, and the only people they came across were templars and the city Guard, who nodded their acknowledgement to the Champion, but did not engage in conversation.

As they made their way to The Hanged Man, an authoritative voice called out to them.

"You men! What business have you in Lowtown?"

They turned to see Knight-Captain Cullen approaching them with his sword drawn; upon recognising Hawke, however, he quickly relaxed and sheathed his weapon.

"Forgive me, Champion; I have orders to question every citizen who is not indoors. A curfew has been imposed by Knight-Commander Meredith."

"A _curfew_?" Hawke exclaimed. "What in the Maker's name for?"

Cullen sighed wearily and rubbed his temples. "A lunatic is running around Lowtown hunting my men," he began. All three men tensed and then immediately tried to relax their postures. "Four have been found…dead," Cullen continued sadly, "and three more are missing…"

"Wait," said Hawke sharply. "Do you know their identities?"

"Your brother was not among them," Cullen quickly reassured him. "He is stationed in the chantry; that's about as safe a place as he can be at the moment. The others, though…we have not been able to identify them." He shook his head. "Andraste preserve us; we live in evil times."

"What do you mean, you haven't been able to identify them?" asked Hawke.

Cullen gave him a wide-eyed look. "I-I saw one of the…bodies; he-he was just…" His voice trailed off to a whisper. "Meredith believes a d-demon has been loosed upon Lowtown; these damned heathen blood mages!" He shuddered and his eyes glazed over momentarily, before he blinked several times and straightened up, turning to Nathaniel. "And what is _your_ business here, ser? You are not a known associate of The Champion."

Nathaniel bowed. "Nathaniel Howe, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, at your service."

"Warden-Commander?" Cullen asked, folding his arms. "We are still trying to apprehend one of your Wardens, Anders. It was believed that he had fled the city, but I am not willing to discount the possibility that he may somehow be involved in this; he is already wanted for murder."

"Anders is no longer a member of the Order; I wish you luck with your search, ser," Nathaniel answered blandly. Varric and Hawke shifted a little, but did not speak.

"I trust that you will inform the templars should you learn of his whereabouts?" Cullen asked with narrowed eyes and a stern tone of voice.

"The Grey Wardens do not condone the murder of innocents, ser," Nathaniel answered cryptically, and, for a moment, Cullen eyed him suspiciously, eventually looking away and sighing.

"May I ask of your plans, gentlemen?" Cullen asked. "If I know of your movements, I will ensure my men do not bother you."

"Well, we're on our way to The Hanged Man," said Hawke, "but now you've told me Carver is at the chantry, I think I'll go there, first; I need to speak to him."

"Then I ask that you do not distract him from his duties," said Cullen.

"Of course not; I won't keep him long," Hawke replied.

Cullen nodded and turned toward the gate. "Be on your guard," he warned. "Although this…person has so far only targeted templars, who knows what is in their mind?"

"You, as well, Knight-Captain," answered Hawke, as the three companions headed toward central Lowtown.

They walked on in silence until they were well out of the earshot of any templars.

"We've gotta find him, quick!" Varric hissed through gritted teeth. "These jokers are just gonna send more and more templars after him, and every one of them will end up as paste!"

Hawke halted, stroking his beard. "And what will we do when we _do_ find him?"

"I think there's only one thing we _can_ do, Hawke," said Varric solemnly.

"No!" protested Nathaniel. "He's not acting of his own accord…"

"We can't just let him run around butchering people, Nathaniel!" Hawke retorted. "I know you're involved with him, but even you admitted when we first met that he wasn't the Anders you remember. He's _not_ Anders anymore; we have to face that!"

"But the potion…" began Nathaniel. "He said that…"

"There _is_ no potion, Shadow; come on, even _you_ know that, deep down," said Varric.

Nathaniel turned away and fell silent.

"Varric, you go the The Hanged Man and get your contacts together," instructed Hawke. "I'll take Nathaniel to the chantry with me; I need to find out if Carver is still on our side."

"I wouldn't bet on it, now," Varric guessed.

"Neither would I, but I have to try everything I possibly can. You get going, Varric; we'll join you shortly."

"You got it," replied Varric, and he gently slapped Nathaniel's arm before departing.

Hawke took a deep breath and addressed Nathaniel's back. "Nathaniel, I'm not trying to play down your relationship with Anders, but I've known him for much longer than you have; he's my friend. My _friend_ , Nathaniel. I wish there was another way, truly, I do."

"I wish you could have known him back in Ferelden," Nathaniel said quietly, still facing away from Hawke. "He was always so…so carefree. Nothing ever got him down, and he refused to let others stay down for long. He would have given his last copper, his last scrap of food, the very shirt off his back to help someone. _That_ is why he merged with Justice; he did it to help him, and look what it's done to him…"

"I know," said Hawke miserably, and he sighed. "Look, let's just go and see Carver, and find out what's what. I doubt we'll get a warm reception, though."

Getting no further response from Nathaniel, Hawke slipped an arm around his shoulders and guided him towards Hightown.

~o~O~o~

The chantry was eerily quiet when they entered; several sisters and templars knelt in silent prayer, and four fresh candles were lit at the altar. Nathaniel and Hawke tiptoed their way through and quietly ascended the stairs to the first floor, and Hawke wondered whether it would be rude to ask someone where Carver was.

Nathaniel began to feel distinctly ill-at-ease as they continued up; he felt a vague throbbing at the back of his head, and a faint hum crept along his skin. Once or twice he glanced behind himself; although he had not heard anything to cause him concern, he imagined that someone, or something was pulling at him or softly nudging him, but the sensation was almost too faint to detect, and he did his best to ignore it.

As they reached the first floor and walked along, a gauntlet-clad arm suddenly shot out of an anteroom and grabbed Hawke by the collar, dragging him inside. Alarmed, Nathaniel quickly ducked into the room before the door was quietly but firmly shut.

"What do you think you're doing?" Nathaniel challenged, but Hawke held his hand up as the templar removed his helm.

"I take it you do _know_ what happened in Lowtown, today, then?" asked Carver, his expression thunderous.

Hawke sighed. "Yes, we've just…"

"Is it Anders?" interrupted Carver.

"We believe it may be, yes," said Hawke.

"You believe it _may be_? What kind of an answer is that? And who's _this_?" Carver asked, looking at Nathaniel.

"Nathaniel, this is my brother, Carver. Carver, this is the Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, Nathaniel Howe."

"Commander of the Grey Wardens?" Carver repeated with derision in his voice. "Not doing a very good job of keeping an eye on them, are you?"

"Anders deserted from the Wardens, in case you've forgotten," snapped Hawke. "Show some respect, _little_ brother."

"Yes, that's it; remind me of how much _better_ you are than me again," Carver bit back.

"We are _not_ having this argument again, here!" hissed Hawke, taking a step closer to his brother. "We need to work out what we're going to do!"

As they argued, Nathaniel again felt a strange sensation crawl along his skin and he shivered, glancing around the room and behind him. Something was affecting him, and the sensation was tantalisingly familiar, but just as he thought he was close to identifying it, it eluded him.

"What's wrong with your friend?" Carver asked Hawke, noticing Nathaniel's odd demeanour.

"He's on edge; we all are," answered Hawke. "I need to know if you're still prepared to help us, Carver."

"You must want your head looking at!" Carver seethed. "Look where helping you has got us!"

"I don't want you to _do_ anything," Hawke whispered harshly, "I just want you to give _us_ a chance to find him. You're the only one who knows for definite he's involved; Knight-Captain Cullen has his suspicions, but he's acting according to Meredith's orders, and she believes that a demon has been unleashed by a blood mage."

"He _is_ a demon!" insisted Carver.

Hawke, waiting for Nathaniel's retort, was surprised when none came, and turned to see him glancing distractedly around the room. "What's wrong, Nathaniel?"

"What? Nothing."

Hawke kept his eyes on Nathaniel for a moment, and then turned back to Carver. "Just try to keep the templars away from him, and let us find him."

"I don't have the authority to do that, as you well know," replied Carver.

"Then just keep your mouth shut," began Hawke.

"What? Like the last time? Thanks to me keeping my mouth shut, a crazed demon is slaughtering innocent templars! How do you think that makes me feel?"

"And what do you think will happen if you tell the Templars that Anders is on the loose? More of them will be sent after him, and more of them will die! Use your head, Carver!"

The two brothers fell silent, and Hawke once again glanced over to Nathaniel, who scratched his arms, his shoulders twitching, but he was no longer glancing around the room.

"What will you do if you do find Anders?" asked Carver.

"We'll take care of him," Hawke answered. "We may be able to get through to Anders and end this without more needless deaths."

"And what does his Commander think?" Carver asked Nathaniel.

"I agree," Nathaniel answered blankly, not meeting his eyes.

"Be quick, then," barked Carver. "I can't keep this to myself for much longer. If any more of the men turn up dead, I'll have to speak up."

"But won't the templars want to know why you didn't speak sooner?" asked Hawke.

"I don't care about that! He has to be stopped! This is your last chance, Garrett."

Hawke nodded and opened the door. "Come, Nathaniel."

As they left the room, Carver remained in the doorway. "For Andraste's sake, be careful," he said to Hawke.

"We will, brother," he replied, and he and Nathaniel walked toward the staircase. "What was wrong in there?" he asked.

"It's nothing; I'm fine, now," answered Nathaniel, this time with certainty in his voice.

As they headed down the stairs, Nathaniel was by now sure of what he was feeling, and the gentle but insistent pull became stronger as they descended the stairs. As they reached the bottom and headed for the exit, Nathaniel felt a strong force pulling him downwards, making his legs feel leaden, and he stared at the floor for a moment before departing the chantry with Hawke.

"Let's get to The Hanged Man, then," suggested Hawke.

"I'll join you shortly," Nathaniel replied. "As I'm in Hightown, I may as well check on Delilah; I haven't seen her for a while."

"All right, then," agreed Hawke. "If we're not in the bar, we'll be in Varric's room."

Nathaniel nodded and offered his hand to Hawke, who shook it. "See you soon."

He watched as Hawke walked away in the direction of Lowtown, and, when he was out of sight, Nathaniel's eyes scanned the grounds of the chantry, eventually stopping on what he was looking for.

Casually, he walked over to a far corner of the chantry's courtyard, and, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he slowly pulled the heavy cover off the manhole, lowered himself down, and replaced the cover.


	11. The Manipulator Is Out-Manipulated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _This is the penultimate chapter of the story; a short epilogue will follow in a few days' time._
> 
>  _I need to give special thanks to two ladies who have really come through for me with this chapter: Nithu, who very sportingly agreed to beta this twelve-chapter 'one-shot', has continually provided me with inspirational ideas, and from whom I've learned a great deal; and CCBug, whose contribution to this chapter in particular has been invaluable, and for picking me up and dusting me down when I was ready to scrap this chapter and start it from scratch. Thank you, both!_

>

Nathaniel dropped noiselessly down into the sewer, quickly ducking into the shadow of a dark recess in the wall. From the scant light that streamed through the manhole cover, he could make out two narrow passageways, one leading east and the other south, although he could not see where they ended as their limits were in darkness. A few fresh torches hung on a hook nearby, for use by the sewer workers, and, using his tinder and flint, Nathaniel quickly got one lit.

Feeling Anders' taint pull at him, he headed down the eastern passage, fending off the occasional rat with his boot as he waded through the effluent of Hightown's nobility.

As the passageway forked, the light of his torch reflected off something close to the ground. Squinting, he trudged through the filth and squatted down to examine the object, which was tied to the base of a supporting beam. It appeared to be made of glass, and, as he brought the torch nearer, he realised that the object was in fact one of the phials that had been used to collect the sela petrae crystals.

He carefully slipped the phial out from its binding, and held it up to his eyes, keeping the torch at a safe distance. It contained a fine, dark pink powder; Nathaniel could see that the sela petrae had been combined with something else, but what?

As sudden realisation hit him, he gasped, breaking into a cold sweat; he felt a vibration deep in his chest as his heart beat wildly and erratically, and he felt as though his lungs were about to burst. In a panic, he threw the torch up the tunnel, putting as much distance between it and the phial as possible; it landed in a puddle and was immediately extinguished.

He got to his feet and held the phial up in the dim light, remembering the dark red fragments of drakestone they'd collected at the Bone Pit. His heart began palpitating again and he felt sweat soak his palms.

 _All that's needed is a spark…_

Carefully, he replaced the phial in its holding and wiped his palms on his tunic. He wanted to render the ingredients harmless, but he simply didn't have time, and what if there were more phials? Only a small amount of what they'd collected had been contained in this one.

He wiped his brow and took several deep breaths, his stomach turning over several times.

Was this 'the plan'? To destroy the chantry? He thought of the people he'd seen there earlier: templars, sisters, residents of Kirkwall. There had been close to a hundred people within the chantry walls.

A _hundred_.

Forcing himself to move, he felt his way along the walls, silently cursing his now-useless torch, and checking each beam he came across, finding three more phials along the way. He eventually reached the end of the passage, which ended in a T-junction with a manhole cover above, through which some light filtered. Taking another deep breath, he craned his neck and glanced down the right-hand passage, which stopped at a dead end. As he turned his head to look left, he glimpsed an odd shape on the ground to his right, which he hadn't noticed before.

Checking that the left passage was clear, he cautiously made his way over to the shape, and held back a groan as he realised it was the crumpled body of a young man.

It certainly wasn't Anders; this man was of stocky build and had short, dark hair. His attire was bizarre for one traversing the sewers; although he had the physique of a warrior, he wore no armour, and was dressed in only a thin tunic and chainmail greaves. He was barefoot. Nathaniel crouched down and reached for one of the man's hands; it was warm, but only barely. He felt for a pulse, and, bending over, placed his ear next to the man's mouth and waited; it quickly became apparent, however, that he was dead.

Nathaniel sighed and folded the man's arms across his chest, curious as to how he'd died; he had no visible injuries or wounds. In the dim light, Nathaniel spotted a silverite signet ring on the man's hand, and was not at all surprised to see the device of Andraste's sword engraved upon it.

He'd been a templar, then, but that still didn't explain how he'd died. Had Justice killed him? If so, the spirit had been kinder to this man than he had been to his previous victims, whose bodies had invariably been fused into monstrous hybrids of flesh and steel. Perhaps he had not used magic, as to do so would have drawn attention from other templars? Or perhaps-

Nathaniel looked down at the man's feet, which were unshod. Why had his boots been removed? Where was his armour?

With a glance at the far corner, Nathaniel found his answer, along with Anders' coat, which had been screwed up and carelessly discarded, along with his boots.

Nathaniel slowly got to his feet and closed his eyes, softly massaging his forehead; he felt pressure begin to build behind his eyes and grimaced as searing acid shot up his gullet. Feeling nauseous and hot, he resumed his journey in the direction Anders' taint called to him, guessing that they could not be more than thirty feet apart by now.

A little further on, he halted, imagining he could hear voices coming from above. No manhole cover was nearby, and he strained to hear what was being said. He wandered over to a recess in the wall and was surprised to find an iron door, which was locked. He pressed his ear against it and listened: he could now hear several faint voices, all speaking together.

… _In my image I forge you; to you I give dominion over all that exists. By Your will may all things be done._

 _Chanters._ Nathaniel realised that he must be standing directly beneath the altar, and once again he thought of the people inside the chantry.

Spurred on by the thought of them, he quickened his pace, feeling Anders' pull grow ever stronger.

As his Warden sense began to pinpoint Anders' location, he slowed, reaching another fork in the sewers. He felt a powerful pull coming from the left passage and instinctively reached for his bow; then, realising that Justice would be able to sense him similarly, he thought better of it, and brought his hands to his front, once again wiping his sweating palms on his tunic.

He peered around the left bend, and, approximately fifteen feet away from him, a man in full templar armour was crouched next to a beam with his back to Nathaniel; Nathaniel stepped out and noticed the man's posture stiffen.

The templar stopped what he was doing and drew himself up to his full height. Slowly, his head turned in Nathaniel's direction and he stared without speaking.

"Why don't you remove that helm, so I know whom I have the pleasure of addressing?" Nathaniel asked. "Although I have a feeling I already know. Justice, I presume?"

"Begone!" Justice commanded, a blue flare visible through the slit in the templar's helm. "Your attempts to interfere are at an end. I will allow nothing and _nobody_ to stand in my way." He turned to face Nathaniel full on and assumed a menacing posture.

"I have no intention of interfering," said Nathaniel, removing his bow and quiver and placing them on the ground; he then took two daggers from his belt, and one from his boot, and threw them down. "I can see what you have planned, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I just want to talk to Anders."

"Of course you wish to speak with Anders!" mocked Justice, taking a few steps closer to Nathaniel. "You wish to cajole him, to offer your body to him like a cheap whore in order to distract him! Well, I will not permit it! Anders will _not_ be returning to Ferelden with you, I promise you that!"

"I know," Nathaniel answered quietly. "You've proved that no matter what I do or say, you have monopoly over Anders now; you can take him anywhere and make him do your will. I have no intention of arguing with you further. Just let me speak to him."

Justice regarded Nathaniel warily, the blue light within the helmet waning slightly, before he shook his head. "You always _were_ very clever, Nathaniel; whatever you're up to, it will not work."

"What could I possibly be up to, now? Your plan is about to come to fruition, and I can see that no matter what I say to Anders, you can take him away from me as soon as my back is turned. Yes, I tried to persuade Anders to return to Ferelden with me, but I failed to do so. You won, Justice."

Nathaniel stepped closer to the armour-clad spirit and sighed. "Do you remember Kristoff? The body of the first person you inhabited?"

"I see your scheme, now; you are attempting to stall me, Nathaniel."

"Why? Why would I bother? I'm at your mercy, Justice. You could put me to sleep like you did before; you could then detonate these devices and I wouldn't know a thing about it."

"Speak quickly, then," said Justice.

"Kristoff was married to a woman named Aura; I remember that you experienced the depth of his love for her. I assume from this that you can also experience Anders' feelings for me, am I correct?"

Justice paused for a moment and looked down at the ground. "Yes…I know how you feel about me, Nate," he said quietly.

" _Nate_? You-you called me Nate…Anders? Is that you?"

"No." Justice's head snapped up and he straightened his posture. "What is your point, Nathaniel?"

"My…" Nathaniel gulped, his heart quickening at the thought that Anders may still be able to hear him, and he took a deep breath before resuming. "My point is that I love Anders and he loves me. You were there, that first night he and I spent together; you will remember the promises we made to one another. If you know me as well as you claim to, you will know that once I have given my word, I do not break it."

"Well?" asked Justice.

"I promised that I would always stand by Anders, no matter what, and I also promised that I would do everything within my power to make him happy. I intend to keep those promises, Justice, and I would not have you break them because you will not permit me to speak with him."

"You expect me to believe that you will stand behind Anders in this endeavour? I am not the fool you would take me for!" argued Justice.

"Why _wouldn't_ I stand behind him? If you have ever truly known how it feels to love someone, you would know that I would do anything, _anything_ for Anders. I would give my life in exchange for his and I would take the life of any who threatened him."

Nathaniel paused, quickly raising his hand and he held his breath, listening carefully; heavy, booted footsteps could be heard approaching from a bend in the passage.

"Who's there?" A gruff voice called out. "Anders? Is that you? I command you in the name of Andraste to turn yourself in!"

"Your command means nothing, enslaver of mages!" Justice bellowed, and he charged forward, blue light flooding through his armour and bathing the walls.

"No, wait!" Nathaniel urged, grabbing Justice's arm. "You _cannot_ use magic here! You will alert every templar in Hightown!"

"W-who _is_ that?" the templar called from around the corner, fear evident in his voice.

"Do _not_ stand in my way, Nathaniel!" commanded Justice.

"I'm not! Just stay where you are! _I'll_ deal with him!"

"You would not take a life you would consider to be innocent, I know this," Justice answered.

"Just stay there!" hissed Nathaniel, pressing himself against the edge of the wall and sidling closer to where the templar waited around the bend.

The templar's steps slowed, and rapid breathing could be heard from just around the corner.

"Templar," Justice called out, using a flat approximation of Anders' voice. "I'm here."

"Who-who's with you?" asked the templar. "I heard other voices."

Nathaniel closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, slowly removing a length of rope from around his waist, gripping it tightly to prevent his hands from shaking. Twisting it around his hands, he pulled a short length taut and waited.

"Shit, I'm not paid enough for this," the templar muttered when no reply came from Anders or Justice. Nathaniel pressed himself back as far as he could and held his breath as the templar rounded the corner.

"Marcus? Is that you?" he asked upon spotting Justice. "What's that blue…urk!" His question was cut off as Nathaniel threw the rope around his neck and pulled it tight, cutting off the templar's air supply.

"Don't fight it!" Nathaniel whispered into his ear as the unfortunate templar's arms clawed frantically at his neck and his legs began to buckle. Nathaniel twisted the rope tighter and gnashed his teeth as he pulled on the rope with all his might, hoping to end the man's suffering as quickly as possible. A harsh quacking and spluttering could be heard as the templar choked, and Nathaniel lowered him to the ground, straddling him and keeping the tension in the rope until he was certain the templar had stopped breathing.

Nathaniel glanced down at the templar, whose lifeless, bulging eyes stared back at him, and he reached down, pulling his eyelids closed.

"Please, forgive me," he quietly entreated, blinking back tears, and, pushing himself to his feet, he turned to face Justice.

"Now do you see what I am prepared to do for him?" he asked angrily, a single tear coursing down his cheek. "Do you not remember Kristoff's dedication to her? His love? His instincts? _That_ is what I feel for Anders, and there is _nothing_ I wouldn't do for him! Do you understand that, finally?"

Justice regarded Nathaniel carefully, and for several moments, neither of them spoke. Nathaniel eventually moved behind Justice and finished securing the glass phial to the beam. "We'll get this done quicker if we work together."

"You are… _assisting_ me, now?" Justice asked, his voice riddled with scepticism.

"Do I have to keep repeating myself?" snapped Nathaniel, and then steadied his voice, indicating for Justice to follow him. "Come on," he ordered. "We may as well make a thorough job of this; there's a door back here that leads somewhere beneath the altar."

Justice followed, but kept his distance from Nathaniel. "I am watching you," he advised uncertainly.

"Do what you like," Nathaniel replied, and, together, they made their way to the iron door Nathaniel had discovered earlier. "Wait here," he instructed the spirit as he picked the lock and pushed the door open.

A short flight of steps lay before him; he cautiously made his way up them, the sound of the Chant growing louder as he arrived at another door, which he also unlocked. With a glance backward to make sure Justice had not followed, he opened the door into what appeared to be a small vestry; from the small shaft of light that shone through the far door, Nathaniel could make out several robes hanging on the wall, and a number of candles and sacred objects were dotted around the room.

He walked over to the far door and tried the handle; it was locked. Taking one of his many lock-picking implements from his belt, he jammed it into the lock and broke it off, ensuring that no one could enter from the chantry itself. Taking a deep breath and wiping sweat from his brow, he then lit a few candles in the room and instructed Justice to join him.

Justice entered the room and removed his helm, placing it on a small table, and glanced around the room, a look of disgust on his face as he listened to the endless Chant.

"Lies. All lies," he sneered. "Let us see if they find solace in their precious Chant when the day is done."

"We're not here to debate the validity of the Chant," said Nathaniel. "Let's get to work."

With a wary glance, Justice removed one of the phials from the belt around his waist and passed it to Nathaniel; the pink powder was already prepared within.

"Do you realise how dangerous it was for you to walk around with this already prepared?" asked Nathaniel as he looked around for a suitable place to secure the phial.

"Yes," Justice answered with what sounded like pride, and as Nathaniel turned to face him, Anders' mouth twisted into an unwholesome smile, distorted by Justice's malice. "And soon, the whole of Kirkwall will realise, also."

Nathaniel turned away and shuddered internally. "Indeed they will," he replied calmly. "Here, this looks like a good spot," he said as he knelt down and began tying the phial to the leg of a table. "Do you agree?"

"I do, Nathaniel," answered Justice.

"How many more phials are there to place?"

"I have four more," Justice replied, "but I think that a sufficient quantity has been distributed, now."

"Well, we may as well finish the job," said Nathaniel, holding his hands out.

"Very well." Justice passed two of the phials to Nathaniel, and they each secured the remainder around the room that lay directly beneath the altar of the chantry.

"It is done," Justice said, exhaling deeply. "Now, you will come with me. We have a meeting with the Knight-Commander."

"One moment," said Nathaniel, touching his arm. Justice looked down at Nathaniel's hand and then at his face. "Let me speak to Anders," he requested.

"For what purpose?"

"You and I both know that this day will end in Anders' death, and quite probably mine. Let me speak to him one last time; let me say goodbye to him. Do you not think he deserves that, after all he has done?"

Justice stared down Nathaniel, his eyes narrowing for a moment, before he slowly nodded. "Anders has proved a most useful vessel," he stated, "and it would only be just for him to be rewarded. Very well; I will permit this for a short time."

"Thank you," Nathaniel said quietly, his breath catching.

Justice took a step closer and brought his head inches away from Nathaniel's. "I will be listening."

"I have no doubt of that," replied Nathaniel.

Justice stepped back and gave Nathaniel a final look of warning, before the blue light slowly subsided, and Anders stood before him, blinking rapidly, his eyes darting around the room, finally settling on Nathaniel.

"N-Nate?" he whispered, once again looking around the room, his eyes moving to one of the phials. He walked over and stared at it, and then, hearing the Chant of Light being recited from above, his mouth fell open and his breathing quickened.

"He did it," he murmured, slowly turning to face Nathaniel. "Maker, he actually did it…"

Nathaniel rushed forward and caught Anders as he fell to his knees, utterly exhausted. "It's all right, Anders," he soothed, kneeling down next to him.

"I-I tried so hard to fight him, Nate, you have to believe me!" Anders cried, his voice trembling. "I wanted to come home with you! I-I tried _so hard_!" Nathaniel pulled him close and pressed Anders' face to his chest. "He…he was too strong for me," he whimpered against Nathaniel's tunic, tears spilling from his eyes. "Please, forgive me, Nate!"

"There's nothing to forgive, love," Nathaniel said softly, his voice choked with his own tears as Anders sobbed against his chest. "Everything's going to be all right, Anders. I'm going to help you."

"No!" Anders blurted, pulling himself away. "I didn't ever want _you_ to be involved in this! You have to get out of here!"

"Listen to me," said Nathaniel, gently cupping Anders' face in his hands. "I once vowed to stand at your side, no matter what, and to do whatever was best for you. I intend to keep that promise. I will help you, Anders."

"No! Please, Nate…" Anders squeezed his eyes closed and gritted his teeth, almost appearing to be in pain.

"Anders," Nathaniel said firmly. " _Look at me_."

Anders opened his eyes and wiped his tears away, but could not meet Nathaniel's eyes.

"You know I'd do anything for you, don't you, Anders?"

Anders nodded. "And I you, Nate, but I can't ask you to do this…"

"I would do _anything_ for you," Nathaniel said resolutely. "I'm going to _help_ you. Do you understand?"

"I…" Anders began to pant, and Nathaniel moved his face closer to Anders'. "I'm going to _help_ you," he repeated in a soft whisper.

Anders finally looked at Nathaniel, his mouth moving as though he was about to speak, but he could find no words.

"I'm going to make you happy, my love," said Nathaniel, placing the gentlest of kisses on his lips. "Just as I always promised I would."

"N-Nate?" Anders' body sagged and Nathaniel once again pulled him close.

"I know what you have wanted for the past six years," Nathaniel said softly into his ear. "I'm going to give it to you. Only when this is done can you finally be free."

A piteous wail issued from Anders' mouth and he let go of Nathaniel, collapsing onto all fours. Nathaniel rubbed his back and shushed him, waiting until he had regained a little control.

"B-but what about you, Nate?" Anders sobbed, finally looking up at him. "What will you do? You won't…you're not going to be all right, are you?"

"I will be content, knowing you have what you finally want," he answered, a strange sense of calm settling over him.

Anders slumped back against a wall, and Nathaniel sat next to him, taking his hand. "Nate, I can't ask this of you," Anders said, gazing sadly into his eyes.

"You haven't," replied Nathaniel, wrapping his other arm around Anders's shoulders. "I choose to do this because I love you."

"Nate…"

"Shh," Nathaniel intoned gently, pulling Anders closer, who watched as Nathaniel took a small object out of his pocket and slipped it into his mouth. Their eyes met, and, understanding, Anders nodded.

His breath came out shakily and he settled against Nathaniel's shoulder. "I…th-thank you, Nate. Thank you for loving me."

"Easiest thing I've ever done," answered Nathaniel, and he gently clasped Anders' chin, turning him to face him.

"I love you, Nathaniel. I love you so much."

"I love you, Anders," replied Nathaniel. "More than anything in this world." Their lips met, and Anders opened his mouth slightly, allowing Nathaniel to pass him the small glass phial he'd placed into his own mouth.

"Goodbye," whispered Nathaniel as Anders bit down on the phial, and, keeping a hold of him, he watched carefully.

Anders' eyes fluttered closed and his breathing slowed almost to a stop, his head flopping against his chest. Nathaniel gently released him and stood up, taking a few steps back. Taking another phial from his pocket, he placed it carefully between his own teeth, bracing himself as he continued to watch, and waited.

Suddenly, Anders' head snapped up and a blue light shone forth from his eyes. "Betrayed!" bellowed Justice, scrambling to his feet and stalking over to where Nathaniel stood. "Betrayed at the last! You _dare_ to take my vessel from me? Then I shall have you in return!"

"No, you _won't_ ," Nathaniel hissed, showing Justice the phial which he held between his teeth. "I will take my own life before I see you take any more! Go back to the fade, and never trouble this world again!"

"You haven't the stomach!" challenged Justice, grimacing and clutching at his head.

"The man I love is gone!" Nathaniel shouted. "I don't _care_ what happens to me!"

"Then if I can't have you, I will take as many templars into the fade with me as I can!" Justice boomed, and raised his arms above his head; his blue aura crackled and flickered violently. "No!" he yelled as his magic failed him. "What is happening?"

"Anders is dying," answered Nathaniel. "If you do not depart him soon, so will you!"

"No! Everything I've worked for…destroyed!" Justice again clutched at his head and bent double, sinking to his knees. "I will find you in the fade, and I will torment you to insanity in your dreams!" he threatened, his aura beginning to fade.

"I'll see you there," barked Nathaniel. "Now, _leave my Anders_!"

Nathaniel squeezed his eyes shut as a frigid gust of wind slammed into him, and he heard the thud of Anders' body against the floor. Opening his eyes to darkness, he re-lit one of the candles and slowly walked over to where Anders lay, unable to look at his face, which was contorted into a startled rictus.

Nathaniel removed the phial from his mouth and placed it into his palm, staring at it for a moment. He removed the stopper, and then fell to his knees beside Anders, and, closing his eyes, he brought it up to his mouth.

A quiet, final exhalation of air left Anders' lungs, and Nathaniel, snapped back to reality, let the phial drop to the floor.

"No, I can't leave you like this, my love," he said in a flat tone. Bringing his hand up to Anders' face, he gently closed his eyes and mouth, and smoothed the tension out of his face.

He looked down at his beloved, who now had the appearance of being in a peaceful slumber. Nathaniel nodded and continued to stroke Anders' face. "That's my handsome man." He looked down at the templar armour Anders wore. "We can't have you wearing this," he said, and began the involved process of removing it, breaking into a sweat as he struggled with the breastplate.

Eventually, Anders lay before him in only his leggings, the discarded armour to the side. Nathaniel stood up and retrieved a folded banner bearing the Chantry's insignia from one of the tables, and laid it flat on the floor next to Anders, rolling his body over onto it. He wrapped Anders in the banner, taking great care with him, and smoothed his ruffled hair back.

"Come on, Anders; let's get you out of here." With a huge effort, Nathaniel hoisted Anders up and over his shoulder, and began to descend the steps back down to the sewers.

"Just you and me, Anders, and nobody else," Nathaniel said as he carried him through the tunnels, ensuring that Anders' shroud was not befouled by the filth he walked through. "Just you and me, Anders. As it always should have been."

Eventually, Nathaniel's body started to tire, and he realised he would need help. He found a relatively clean space beneath a manhole cover and gently placed his lover on the ground, propping him against a wall.

"I'm sorry, Anders; I can carry you no further," he said, glancing at his face. By now it was dark up on the surface, and a shaft of moonlight fell across Anders' face, revealing a serene smile.

Nathaniel's face slackened and he settled himself in Anders' lap, unable to take his eyes off him; Anders had never before looked so peaceful or content.

 _I vowed to make you happy._

"Y-you look beautiful, Anders," he stammered, and softly cupped his face, closing his eyes as he kissed the love of his life goodbye.

Finally, Nathaniel's forbearance crumbled, and he wept, long and hard, sinking against Anders' chest; and, when he felt he could weep no more, he took another look at Anders' face, and broke down once again.

~o~O~o~

Varric was seated at a table next to the bar at The Hanged Man, deep in conversation with several scout friends of his. Hawke, who was becoming concerned at the length of time Nathaniel had been gone, had been monitoring every person that entered.

"Varric," he whispered, prodding the dwarf on the back as a pale, bewildered Nathaniel finally entered and leaned heavily against a wall. He cautiously ventured over to where Nathaniel stood, keeping a discreet distance. "Nathaniel?" he asked, noticing the fine tremor of his hands. "What's happened?"

"Outside," Nathaniel mumbled, a queer note in his voice. Hawke immediately glanced over at Varric and gestured for him to join them. The dwarf rose, telling his associates to wait, and made his way to the entrance as Hawke held the door open for Nathaniel.

The three men stepped outside, the brisk evening air chilling them. Nathaniel stared blankly ahead, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular, and Hawke and Varric shared a concerned look.

"Shadow?" Varric asked softly.

Nathaniel's eyes slowly moved down to the ground and he gulped. "He…he's…" He paused, his mouth slack as his shoulders slumped and his knees buckled.

"Hey-hey-hey!" cried Hawke, grabbing Nathaniel's arms and quickly leading him over to a nearby barrel, sitting him down. "Nathaniel! Whatever's the matter?"

"He's gone," he whispered. "He…" Nathaniel nodded his head, finally accepting the fact as reality. "He's dead."

"You mean…Anders?" asked Hawke, his eyes locked with Varric's, and from the corner of his eye, Nathaniel nodded once.

"Did the templars get to him?" Varric asked, and Nathaniel shook his head mutely. "Then…" He looked up at Hawke, who fixed him with an intense look. "You…you, Shadow?"

Nathaniel's posture slackened and he closed his eyes, the last vestige of strength finally leaving him. Hawke placed a hand on his shoulder, and the three men remained silent for several minutes, each alone with his own thoughts.

"You went after him, didn't you?" Hawke finally asked, his voice soft and kind. "You sensed him in the chantry. I knew something was up. It all makes sense, now."

"Get him inside, Hawke," said Varric. "I'll take care of Blondie." He moved closer to Nathaniel and placed his hand on his arm, stroking it with his thumb. "Where is he, Shadow?"

"He…I left him at the bottom of the steps…the manhole. Varric…he's on his own down there; please…"

"I know where you mean," answered Varric with a nod. "I'll get some trusted people together and we'll look after him, I promise." Varric turned to head away, but was surprised when Nathaniel reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Varric, will you do something for me?" he asked, loosening his tight grip on the dwarf's sleeve.

"Anything, Shadow."

"I-I don't know if you'd be able to arrange it; I…I don't want to cause you any more trouble," Nathaniel began.

"Shadow, you only have to name it," Varric assured him. "Whatever it is, I'll find a way."

Nathaniel opened his eyes and nodded. "Well, Anders once told me that the only time he ever felt truly free was when he swam across Lake Calenhad, when he was escaping from the Circle Tower. He knew that was the one place where the templars couldn't reach him. Even if they were waiting for him at the shore, they couldn't reach him in the water…does that make any sense?"

Hawke and Varric nodded and waited for him to continue. A faint smile crossed his lips as a memory of happier times came to his mind. "Anders always used to spend ages in the bath…at first I thought he was just vain. Well, he was," he said, his smile deepening, before it quickly faded. "He just loved water…he used to stand out in the rain, and he'd sit next to the pond in Amaranthine's town square and watch the ducks. He gave them all names…he'd talk to them…"

Nathaniel's face crumpled, and Hawke and Varric averted their eyes, pretending not to have noticed. Nathaniel placed his hands over his face and let out a shuddering sigh.

"I can arrange that," Varric said, understanding his meaning.

"You-you can?" asked Nathaniel, moving one hand away from his face.

"Sure," he replied softly. "Whatever Blondie wants." Without another word, he turned and walked away from them, cursing to himself as he dashed a tear from his eye.

"Let's get you inside," Hawke said.

"I don't know if I can," replied Nathaniel. "My legs…they won't…they won't work."

Hawke snaked an arm around Nathaniel's back and pulled his arm around his shoulders, helping him to his feet, and the two of them slowly walked back to the entrance.

"Wait…we need to…the chantry, there are…Justice planted explosives beneath the chantry," said Nathaniel in a panicked tone.

Hawke closed his eyes and groaned as the whole picture finally came together for him. "Varric and I will take care of that later," he assured him. "You've had quite enough for today."

"Thank you," said Nathaniel. "For everything…you _and_ Varric."

"Let's just get you inside," replied Hawke.

"It-it's all right, I can manage," Nathaniel said, and Hawke released him and slapped his back, opening the door for him.

As they entered, Hawke approached the group of scouts at the table and produced a generous sum of money. "Your services will not be required after all, gentlemen; here is a little something for your trouble. Your discretion in this matter would be appreciated."

"Of course, Champion! Thank you!" said one of the scouts, his eyes lighting up as he shared the money with his friends. The rest of them raised their tankards and also promised to be discreet.

Hawke settled Nathaniel in his room and left briefly, returning a few minutes later with a bottle of whiskey and two mugs. He half-filled a mug for Nathaniel and passed it over to him where he sat on his bed, and poured a little into his own mug. He would have a drink with Nathaniel, but could not afford to get drunk; a busy night awaited him.

"So, tell me about Anders," he requested as he took a seat in the chair next to the fireplace.

Nathaniel stared into his mug and took a sip, glancing up at Hawke. "I thought you said you knew him better than me?"

Hawke smiled a little, and took a sip of his own whiskey. "I want to hear about _your_ Anders; the one _you_ knew. He sounded quite a person to know. Talking to the _ducks_?"

Nathaniel snorted quietly through his nose, although he did not return Hawke's smile. "If you had known him back then, that would not have surprised you at all."

"Tell me," Hawke asked.

Nathaniel nodded, and began to tell him some of the many stories of _his_ Anders' escapades, while they waited for Varric to return.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of the story. Thank you to everyone for reading, and leaving comments and kudos. A huge thank you also to my excellent beta, Nithu, for her hard work and support throughout.

Three days later

The news of Anders' death had spread like wildfire throughout Kirkwall, particularly within the districts of Lowtown and Darktown.

An angry Varric had been forced to assure Nathaniel that his contacts had been discreet, and, determined to find the source of the leak, he'd put his ear to the ground, learning of a rumour that the Templars had killed Anders, thus delivering Kirkwall from the grip of an evil abomination. After putting some friends to work to find the templar who'd started the rumour, Varric, with Nathaniel's blessing, had started up a rumour of his own: that Anders had taken his own life in order to vanquish Justice, heroically preventing the destruction of the chantry.

Both stories had drawn a large crowd to the docks, along with a strong templar presence; Knight-Commander Meredith had insisted upon it, although she had not attended personally, sending Knight-Captain Cullen in her stead. To outsiders, it appeared that the Templars were in attendance to maintain order, although Hawke had pithily voiced his suspicion to Varric that the real reason for their presence was to ensure that Justice was not lying dormant in Anders' body.

Trouble had broken out earlier when a large group of people from Darktown had ventured up to the surface, outraging some of the nobles, who had demanded the immediate removal of the 'vermin'. Knight-Captain Cullen had swiftly stepped in, informing all involved that anyone not showing the proper respect for the occasion would be turned over to the city Guard, nobles included. After a few empty threats from one or two of the more prominent nobles to have Cullen demoted, the crowd quietened, although it had by now split into two distinct groups.

A plain, wooden boat sat on the slipway, next to which a line of people slowly milled past, each stopping for a moment to say a few words or to place an item inside the boat. One or two rough-looking sorts had joined the line, and if they had intended any disrespectful gestures or words, they were quickly stopped by a severe look from Hawke, who stood next to the boat with Nathaniel.

Nathaniel had procured a decent copy of Anders' favourite blue and gold robes; at least they'd been his favourite back in Ferelden, and Anders lay resplendent upon his bier in the boat with his arms folded across his chest, along with several small gifts from the residents of Kirkwall whose lives he'd touched: flowers, coins, notes of prayer and a small, roughly-carved wooden cat _,_ made by one of the women of Darktown, which had been placed into one of Anders' hands, his fingers curled around it.

Nathaniel had always thought the robes that Anders wore to be garish, and perhaps inappropriate for a funeral, but, looking down into the boat, he realised that no other garment would have sufficed; this was the old Anders, _his_ Anders, gaudy robes and all, and he almost expected Anders to open his eyes, wink, and leap out of the boat, yelling, "Ha! I had you all going for a bit then, didn't I?"

Nathaniel's heart swelled at the thought, and then immediately sank in his chest. Never again would he hear Anders' voice, his laugh, his whistling or his tuneless attempts at singing. How wondrous that cacophonous racket, which used to irritate him so much, especially first thing in the morning, would have sounded now.

He glanced down into the boat, his eyes fixed on Anders' pale, handsome face as he blankly mumbled thank-yous to the well-wishers that lined up to pay their respects. A warm, gentle breeze, brought in off the sea, curled around Nathaniel and ruffled his hair, at the same time blowing a stray lock of Anders' copper-coloured hair across his face.

Nathaniel watched carefully, waiting for Anders to wrinkle his nose or sneeze, then he closed his eyes and sighed, a groan rumbling through his chest. He dropped to one knee and reached for Anders' face, smoothing back the lock of hair and tucking it behind his ear. He stayed there for several minutes, his hand still resting against Anders' cheek, seemingly oblivious to everyone else.

"Are you all right, Nathaniel?" Hawke asked quietly so no one else could hear. Nathaniel stood up and turned his head toward Hawke, and, giving no answer, let his gaze fall back to the boat. "The line is coming to an end," said Hawke. "This won't go on for much longer."

"It's all right," said Nathaniel quietly. "These people knew Anders; he was their friend. I would not deny them the chance to say goodbye."

"I was not his friend, nor he mine," a flat, acid-coated voice spoke, startling them both; they looked to the head of the line, and Hawke was astonished to see Fenris standing next to the boat. He tensed, fearing a bitter diatribe from the elf.

"Which version of the story is the truth?" demanded Fenris.

"Well, neither, technically," Hawke whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Although our version is not _too_ far from the truth; the Templars' story, though, was a pack of lies."

"Then the mage agreed that his death was a necessity?"

Hawke's hands clenched involuntarily at his sides, and he cast a wary glance at Nathaniel, expecting an angry reaction. To his credit, however, Nathaniel remained poised and nodded silently.

"I see," said Fenris, taking a step closer to the boat and looking down. For a few tense moments, the three of them did not speak, and Hawke's eyes darted between the other two men.

"Somnus puteus," Fenris said solemnly after a lengthy pause, and, with a single nod, turned and walked away. Hawke stared after him with his mouth hanging open.

"What does that mean?" Nathaniel asked.

Hawke shook his head in amazement and snorted softly. "Sleep well," he answered.

Eventually, the line of well-wishers came to an end, leaving only Hawke and Nathaniel standing next to the boat.

Varric and a few of his friends had arranged the funeral, and Varric now approached the boat, carrying a small barrel of oil.

"Shadow? Would you like to do the honours?"

"Actually, I think the two of you should," answered Nathaniel. "You were his best friends."

Varric nodded and placed the barrel on the ground, and then approached the boat, taking one of Anders' hands and shaking it. "Watch over him, Blondie," he whispered. "It'll be a lonely trip back home for him."

Varric stepped away, and Hawke knelt at the side of the boat, taking one of Anders' hands in his. "Don't worry, my friend," he said, glancing at the crowd of Darktown residents. "I won't forget about them, I promise." He released Anders' hand but watched him for a moment, before shaking his head and standing. "Nathaniel…?"

Nathaniel stayed where he was and shook his head. "I've already said what I wanted to say, and those words were for no one but Anders to hear."

"Of course," answered Hawke, and he picked up the barrel and removed the stopper. He poured approximately half of its contents into the boat, ensuring an even distribution of the oil, and then passed it to Varric, who poured the other half in. Leaving a little oil at the bottom of the barrel, he then placed it on the ground by a brazier that had been lit next to where Nathaniel stood.

Varric nodded to two men stood in the crowd, who joined them, and together they pushed the boat off the slipway and into the Waking Sea. As the tide slowly took Anders away from them, Varric and Hawke walked away and stood next to Carver and Cullen, leaving Nathaniel alone.

"Shouldn't one of you guys be commending him to the Maker, or something?" asked Varric with an irritated glance at the templars.

"I, um, I'm not certain that would be well-received," mumbled Cullen, with an anxious glance at the crowd.

A loud tut was heard and Carver stepped forward. "I'm surprised at you," he snapped at Cullen. "I'll do it."

Hawke smiled proudly as his brother walked over to Nathaniel, and, exchanging a simple nod with him, Carver closed his eyes and outstretched an arm in front of him. He spoke steadily and clearly, his voice carrying over to the furthest reaches of the hushed crowd.

"Maker, receive your son at your right hand, returned to you now as he was when first you gave him life. Forgive him his transgressions, as have we. Grant him the peace that eluded him in life."

"Thank you," said Nathaniel as Carver turned and headed back, where Hawke shook his hand.

Nathaniel waited for a while until Anders had been carried a little further away, and then, taking his bow from his back, he nocked an arrow, dipping its head into the remainder of oil in the barrel; he then lit it upon the brazier and took careful aim, sending a flame-tipped arrow into the centre of the boat.

After firing a second and third arrow, Nathaniel set his bow down and watched as flames began to consume the boat. Quiet murmuring could be heard through the crowd as some prayed; most, however, remained silent.

After a while, the crowd began to disperse, and the people returned to their homes. The templars, apparently satisfied that Anders was no longer possessed, also departed. Varric and Hawke quietly joined Nathaniel and the three of them watched as Anders became one with the water he loved so much.

Nathaniel turned to face the other two and looked at them for a moment, but did not speak.

"So…you're leaving tonight, then, Shadow?" asked Varric.

He nodded. "Delilah is eager to return to her family, and she has taken young Clara under her wing; we need to get her settled before she delivers. I also have several matters to take care of," he added with a sigh.

"Well, stay in touch," Varric said brightly, although his expression was grim. "You know where I am; drop me a line when you get home, hm?"

A faint smile ghosted Nathaniel's features. "I will," he promised. "I…thank you, Varric…"

Varric grunted dismissively and walked away, slapping Nathaniel's arm as he passed.

"He's not big on goodbyes," Hawke observed wryly as they watched Varric head away from them.

"Who is?" Nathaniel wondered aloud.

"Do you need anything before you leave?" asked Hawke.

"No, thank you," Nathaniel replied. "I would be interested to know how you're getting on, though."

"Vigil's Keep, isn't it?" Hawke asked, and Nathaniel nodded. "I'll be certain to let you know. And, like Varric said, keep in touch."

Nathaniel extended his hand, and Hawke gripped it tightly, laying his other hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. "It was an honour to meet you, Warden-Commander."

"The honour was mine, Champion," Nathaniel replied. Hawke nodded and released his hand, and then also departed, leaving Nathaniel alone with his thoughts. He took a deep breath and, with one final glance out at the water, he collected his bow and arrows and made his way over to the far end of the docks, where the vessel that would bear him home was docked.

~o~O~o~

The start of the voyage home to Ferelden was not a comfortable or pleasant one. The day had been very hot for the time of year, which had pleased Nathaniel; at least it hadn't been raining, but, as evening drew near, a heavy canopy of cloud moved over their position on the Waking Sea, but the temperature did not cool, and the air, what there was of it, felt stagnant and oppressive. A storm was on the way.

Nathaniel lay on his bunk with his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms loosely arranged above his head, watching a silverfish meander its way across the floor of his cabin. He was drenched in sweat and his shirt was plastered to him. The muggy atmosphere, combined with lack of sleep over the last few nights, had given him a nasty headache and each time he closed his eyes he felt as though the walls of his cabin were closing in around him.

He'd see Anders, too, whenever he closed his eyes, and for a time had replayed some of their conversations in his mind just to hear his voice, but eventually he'd tried to focus on his return home and the many duties and problems that no doubt awaited him there. The nearer he sailed to Ferelden, and Vigil's Keep, however, the further away they seemed, and the less he cared about either. Vigil's Keep had never held happy memories for him as a child, and, as an adult, it would now only serve as a constant reminder of Anders' absence, for the second time in Nathaniel's life.

He hauled himself up and sat on the edge of his bunk, clutching his stomach and grimacing. The raw, sharp and fierce pain he'd felt at Anders' passing had waned a little and now sat in the pit of his stomach, manifesting itself as a throbbing, almost constant ache. Feeling he'd suffocate if he remained in his cabin for much longer, he wearily rose to his feet and left his cabin, hoping the air above decks would be more comfortable.

It wasn't; if anything, it was even more oppressive and claustrophobic, and Nathaniel felt as though he'd shrunk by six inches as he approached the railing at the stern, nodding at a few of the crew on the way.

He leaned heavily against the metal guard, letting the fine spray settle on his face. He looked out at the white line of foam that trailed behind, and let his gaze wander to the horizon, where the calm waters appeared as a sheet of silver glass. Although he took some comfort from the fact that Anders was now a part of the very sea upon which he sailed, his absence was so huge that it was almost a presence that followed Nathaniel everywhere: a constant companion of loneliness and want.

"Did I do the right thing, Anders?" he asked the water. "Is this what you truly wanted?" He sighed, feeling foolish for talking to himself and glanced over his shoulder, making sure none of the crew were in earshot. "I love you," he whispered to the sea that was now Anders' home.

"There's a big 'un a-comin'!" shouted a crewman from the crow's nest. "Hold on tight!"

Nathaniel gripped the railing tightly, as did several of the crew who ran over to join him. "It'll be all right, son," one of the older men assured him. "We'll just be rocked a bit, tha's all."

The swell of the wave could be felt from beneath and the vessel pitched a little, before the wave broke against the stern, and Nathaniel was drenched as water crashed over him.

Keeping one hand on the railing, he wiped the salty water from his eyes and could hear laughter around him. He opened his eyes and looked at the crew, all of whom had escaped the wave and were bone dry.

"Unlucky, son!" the older man laughed as the vessel stilled and some of the crew began swabbing the deck with mops. "Someone's playing a trick on you!"

Nathaniel squeezed the water out of his hair and turned to face the sea once again. "Bastard," he muttered, and he began to laugh, not sure whether the water that ran down his face was sea water or tears.

He leaned over the railing and let a drop of water fall from his face into the sea, leaving a small part of himself behind for Anders, and he resolved that the next time it rained in Amaranthine, he would make the time to stand out in it.

Talking to the ducks, however, would be going too far.


End file.
